


They Know God (But I Know You)

by lacunalady



Category: MCU, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Artist Steve Rogers, Avenger Bucky Barnes, BAMF Natasha Romanov, BAMF Steve, Brooklyn, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Avengers, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ghost Bucky Barnes, Hydra, Hydra (Marvel), Idiots in Love, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Reckless Steve Rogers, Size Difference, Skinny!Steve, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Steve is normal but BFFs with a bunch of superheros, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, ghost!bucky, preserum!Steve, shrinkyclinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-02-13 02:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 227,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21486571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacunalady/pseuds/lacunalady
Summary: “It’s dumb,” Steve shakes his head. “People are stupid for turning this place away as quickly as they did in the past. S’been through a lot of owners.”That piques Sam’s interest even more. His eyebrows lift and he looks around. “Someone die here or something?”“Actually,” Steve murmurs, pulling the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over his hands. He takes in the apartment before him with a nervous smile. “Legend says it’s haunted.”***Or, how many tropes can I fit into one long-ass Stucky fic? :)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve/Bucky, bucky/steve
Comments: 796
Kudos: 1070





	1. When I close my eyes its you I see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the ghost thinks he's crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, this fic was born out of the line in CATWS, where Natasha talks about the Winter Soldier being a ghost.
> 
> Thus, I present you with: ghost!bucky, preserum!Steve, WS!Bucky = undead shrinkyclinks ?? 
> 
> This is my first time EVER writing for stucky so I'm really excited!! I've been reading so much stucky the past two years and I'm super excited to finally be contributing :) 
> 
> This fic is unbeta'd, so please keep that in mind. I'm only a human with poor eyesight and dusty glasses so I make mistakes, probably a lot of 'em. 
> 
> Other than that..I really hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! 
> 
> here we GOOoooOOOoo~~~

_You've got a hold of me_   
_Dug deeper than you'd ever belive_   
_Started feeling like it's more a disease_   
_When I close my eyes it's you I see_   
_And it's torture to love you_   
_Now all I can do is dream of you_   
_It's torture to love you_

_I lived alone before I met you_   
_Maybe I'll live alone again_

-"Worship" Amber Run

________________________________________________________

“Steve--dude. C’mon. I know you’re not serious.” Sam doesn’t blink as he looks from the dingy kitchen to a defiant Steve Rogers, standing in said kitchen, arms crossed over his boney chest.  
His knuckles were bruised from a fight he denied starting just last week, but his black eye healed up in a timely fashion, thanks to a strict icing regimen that Steve had perfected by this point in his life. “...Because I know you. And I know that this is just some kind of joke. And it isn’t funny, by the way.”

“It’s already in writing,” Steve sticks out his chin in the way he’d been known to do when challenged. “This apartment is officially mine. And I like it. I’m proud of it.” Steve is surprised by how convincing he sounds even to his own ears. As he says the words, he knows them to be true. “It’s...charming.”

“I mean,” Sam shakes his head, walking around. The floor groans under his feet, complaining with every heavy step. Sam lets out a long, weighted breath. “Steve--this place is old. And when I say old, I mean, it’s--”

“It was built in 1922.” Steve supplies helpfully, running his fingers along the walls. They weren’t completely straight or smooth; the paint was chipping in some places and marked up by scratches in others, but he was never one to refuse a challenge. His hands were gentle, loving, as he brushed them against the surfaces. His fingers came away coated in dust. “Just needs a paint job and some love. All original hardwood and cabinets. Got lots of history.”

Silently, Steve knew the apartment would need a little more than some paint. It would need at least a week of back-breaking cleaning, his scoliosis and arthritis would flare up, the dust would trigger the ugliest side of his allergies, and in turn, his asthma would have his lungs working overtime.

But Steve has never owned his own apartment before, never thought he’d get the chance. His commissions had been doing surprisingly well and his job at the VA ensured a steady income on top of that.

He loved living with Sam, but he didn’t love Sam coming home at 3 am dripping in alien goo from whatever intergalactic beast he’d help stop from invading the earth that week all over their living room floor. Not to mention the countless hours he spent listening to Sam grumble about how dangerous it was for Steve to be living with him--given the enemies Sam had, and all.

Sam was a great roommate. Falcon, on the other hand...not so much.  
Steve was going to miss sharing their apartment, but he was looking forward to getting up at 6:00 am and not having to sneak around the house like a criminal because Sam was still sleeping, or making sure Sam put his weapons away properly, or having to scrub blood out of the carpet.

This apartment was full of huge windows that let in a lot of natural light, which was perfect for painting. It was old, and….out of shape, maybe, but it had so much character. It was like the apartment was alive, beneath him. There was a certain, coursing energy, that felt like the walls were breathing him in.

It just needed some love, love that Steve was more than willing to give. A project like this for him to focus his energy on is exactly what he needed.

The master bedroom even had an en suite bathroom with a tub that Steve could soak in to soothe his aching muscles. The kitchen was large and spacious, and the living room was cozy, lots of places to store his plant-children that Sam teased him about loving so much. It was, essentially, his dream home. 

“No kidding,” Sam mused, and then looked at Steve with narrow eyes. “What about the other tenants in this place? You got any idea what kind of demographic you’re moving into here, Rogers? What your neighbours are like?”

It was a good question, as far as concerns about buying a new place went. Steve already knew, though, and he wasn’t concerned. “I think I’m literally the only person in this entire building who isn’t retired yet,” He grins dangerously, adjusting his wire-frame glasses up higher on his nose. He figured that with all the dust in the place, risking contacts wouldn’t be an option for at least a little while. “I’m going to get like, fifteen grandmas out of this deal, no additional cost.”

Sam groans, looking up at the ceiling in remorse. “Dude, you’re moving into a _retirement_ home. This isn’t some bachelor pad to bring hot guys over and sex them up. This is like.” Sam shakes his head, waving his hands in frustration. “This building just screams virgin. I mean, I am just really not seeing any pluses to this.”

“Sam!” Steve sputters, face turning red. He couldn’t really deny the allegation, though. The house didn’t scream seduction or anything remotely close to it. “You don’t buy an apartment for the sex appeal.”

“You do if you’re trying to get laid, which, evidently, you are not.” Sam cries dramatically, but there is a hint of a smile tugging at his face that Steve is quick to notice. “This is a boner killer, for sure.”

“It just...needs work.” Steve says defensively, looking around at the space. He could feel nothing but love for the place. “I’ll put my own spin on it. I’ve got ideas. I have a Pinterest board, n’stuff.”

“Oh, thank god, we’re saved! He’s got a Pinterest board!” Sam snorts, shifting his weight and listening to the squeaks of the floor beneath him. “All I’m saying is that I don’t think you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“A great apartment for a killer price?” Steve smiles sweetly, batting his eyelashes.

Sam just rolls his eyes and shivers dramatically. “It’s _freezing_ in here, man. Please tell me you’ve got heating. If there isn’t any heating, I, as your legal guardian, forbid you to live here. You will literally die. Literally.”

“I have heat,” Steve mumbles, self-conscious. He rubs his arms and finds they’re coated in goosebumps. A chill rushes over him--it hadn’t been cold earlier, but once Sam mentioned it, Steve couldn’t ignore the frigid air. It was probably just him, though--terrible circulation was on his list of medical problems, amongst many, many other things. “I dunno, must just be turned down. And I’m 26, you don’t need to worry about me so much,” Steve scowls.

Sam loved to joke that he was the “mom friend” of the group when in all reality it was Natasha, otherwise known as the Black Widow, that made sure Sam, Steve and Clint all kept their heads out of their asses. Sam was just as clueless and reckless as the rest of them.

You’d think being friends with three Avengers would earn Steve some merit points, but no. He was still just a dorky guy from Brooklyn, who just happened to hang out with Falcon, Hawkeye, and Black Widow on various occasions. Still very much a virgin, still very much overlooked in the dating apartment. His longest ‘relationship’, if one could even call it that, had been three dates and a phone call. Steve broke it off when the guy kept picking his nose at the table and wiping it in random places.

He may be desperate, but he’s got standards, dammit.

“You’ve got a lot of work to do.” Sam whistles, but there is a tug on his lips that let Steve know he’s at least a little proud. It makes something in Steve respond in like with a small swell of pride.

He had an apartment, of his very own. With no roommates. It was all his, and he didn't have to share it with anyone. 

“The price was right,” Steve repeats, uncrossing his arms to run a hand through his blond hair. It needed some love, of course, but it had good bones. Sturdy, and safe. “And I think it’s beautiful. I mean, it has history, Sam. It’s got a lot of natural light, too, which will be perfect for my art. And it’s mine. Like--really mine.”

“Are you sure all this dust won’t kill you in your sleep? Allergies? Asthma? What about mold? Did you have it inspected?” Sam has a joking tone to his voice, but Steve knows there is a heavy undertone of real worry that Sam was unable to help when it came to Steve. “Older places like these apartments are rife with asbestos, Steve.”

Perhaps Sam really was a mom friend when it came to stuff like that--he loved to worry, especially about Steve. Usually, it came off in a teasing manner or they fought like cats and dogs, but Steve knew it came from a good place; Sam loved him, and wanted the best for him. The feeling was mutual.

“I had it inspected, this apartment will not kill me.” Steve clarifies with confidence, wanting to reassure his friend. “And dust can be cleaned. Sam, c’mon. It’s already done, I move in next week. It’s within walking distance to the subway and a grocery store, and...I dunno. Something about it...it just felt right. Like it was meant to be.” Steve shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “Just be happy for me. Please?”

“‘It’s been on the market for a long time,” Sam plows on as if Steve hadn’t spoken. “They had trouble selling it--did you ask why that is?” Sam was using the voice he always seemed to take on when he thought Steve was doing something stupid. Sam used that voice a lot, especially when Steve would come home to their shared apartment with a black eye and bloody knuckles.

Steve snorts, shaking his head. The stories he had heard ran through his head but he dismisses them just as readily as he did when he first heard them. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

Sam arches a brow at that, intrigued. He knows Steve too well, all of his tells--Steve is a terrible liar. “You did ask.”

“Yeah, I asked. I’m not an idiot.”

“_That_ is still up for debate.” Sam shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans, staring pointedly at Steve. “So? Why had no one taken an interest? Something must be up for people to be turning this place down, with all of its dust and...y’know...” he makes a vague gesture to the house in its entirety that offends Steve more than it ought to, “_Charm_.”

“It’s dumb,” Steve shakes his head. “People are stupid for turning this place away as quickly as they did in the past. S’been through a lot of owners.”

That piques Sam’s interest even more. His eyebrows lift and he looks around. “Someone die here or something?”

“Actually,” Steve murmurs, pulling the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over his hands. “Legend says it’s haunted.” It feels surreal to say it out loud, and kind of funny.

Haunted. People had refused to buy this big, beautiful apartment because of some ancient rumour that it was haunted. It was the dumbest thing Steve had ever heard. People were so damn superstitious.

Sam blinks. And blinks again. His face blanks. “Haunted.”

“That’s what I said. Yeah.”

“You bought a _haunted apartment_?”

“According to _legend_, Sam. It’s just talk. Someone made up a story years ago because the wind made the door slam shut or something, and it’s made everyone afraid of this place.” Steve says very patiently as if he was talking to a child. “It’s just some stupid story. People love a good scary story.”

“This is how _every_ horror movie, like, ever starts, you know that, right?” Sam’s eyebrows shoot up. “This is like, the exact scene where the protagonist is all--oh, ghosts aren’t real, haha, not me, no sir, and then they get ultra-super-spooked-and-murdered-by-the-ghost.”

“I don’t know that, actually. You know I don’t like scary movies. They--”

“Give you nightmares, yeah, yeah, Grandma, I know. I’m just saying, you might wanna start watching. Maybe they’ll teach you a thing or two about how to handle a poltergeist,” Sam lets out a low whistle, nudging at a small pile of dust bunnies. “Better call the fuckin’ Winchesters or some shit. If you die in here, promise you won’t come back to haunt me?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Steve grins wickedly, and Sam let out a long-suffering sigh. His fate was sealed.

Sam shakes his head fondly at Steve, looking around at the less-than-perfect apartment. “What have you gotten yourself into, Rogers?”

The light filtering in through the window casts a golden glow on the apartment, illuminating the dust particles that danced in orbit around the kitchen where they stood, reacting to every delicate disturbance of air.  
Even if it was kind of gross, an indicator of how much work had to be done to get the place up to Steve’s spiffy-clean standards….it was still kind of beautiful. A rainbow.

Steve watches them dance, lips pursed. “A whole hell of a lot, it would appear.”

\--------------------------

“I’m gonna miss having you as my roommate, Rogers.” Sam sighs, leaning against the counter of the kitchen, hands shoved into his pockets.

“I’ll miss you too, of course. Not you leaving your dirty socks everywhere or singing Disney hits in the shower at the top of your goddamn lungs...or trudging alien guts through our living room or bleeding all over the bathroom counter from a bullet wound, but.” Steve shrugs playfully, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Other than that, you were a great roommate. Really helped me brush up my sewing techniques and my first aid.”

And Sam_ was_ a great roommate. They got along great, they looked after each other, and they were best friends. Minus the whole Avenger part of their relationship, they got along like two peas in a pod. Sam was there for Steve at his sickest, at his healthiest, every high and low since they’d met four years ago.

But living with an Avenger wasn’t safe. When Sam, AKA the Falcon’s civilian identity got leaked, Tony Stark insisted that all Avengers move into the tower which was equipped with max security. Civilians like Steve Rogers don’t live in billion-dollar towers with Tony Stark, so. Here Steve was.

They’d met when Steve was brought on to teach art therapy classes at the VA where Sam did group therapy for recovering vets, during the times he wasn’t out saving the world.  
Steve, being the oblivious idiot he was, hadn’t recognized Sam since the Avengers PR used to work hard to keep the real identities of its heroes under wraps for their own safety. Their friendship was instant, and when Sam told him the truth about who he was, it didn’t matter to Steve about the dangers of being best friends with a superhero; Sam was a good guy. One of the best he’s known.

Through Sam, Steve met Nat and Clint, and the four of them were damn near inseparable.

When Steve’s mom passed away just a few months after he’d met Clint, Steve was left with an apartment that hurt to be in, medical bills he couldn’t afford, and a lonely aching in his bones.

He and Sam moved in shortly after that. The rest is...well, history.  
But Steve’s commissions had been doing surprisingly well, and he’d taken on more classes at the VA due to a peak of interest in art therapy, and so all in all, Steve was doing okay for himself.

Things were _good._

It was something he wasn’t sure he’d ever been able to say. Sure, he still had debt like most Americans, but it was manageable debt, not soul-crushing debt. Steve could both notice and appreciate the difference.

“What if you slip in the shower?” Sam cries, dragging Steve back into the present moment. He throws his hands up in the air, his eyes getting all wide and concerned. They’d been arguing for nearly an hour. “Or cut your finger on a kitchen knife and bleed to death? What if you have an asthma attack and can’t get to your inhaler in time?”

The very last one was possible, even highly likely in the winter times, when Steve’s lungs reached their most stubborn and the icy air was constantly reaching for his chest like a fist.

“I’ll be extra careful,” Steve smiles sweetly, batting his eyelashes in a dramatic fashion. It was all he could do; reassure Sam, try to do his best to let Sam know he was going to take care of himself. “Promise.”

“I somehow don’t believe that for a second.”

“I pinky promise,” Steve vows, a hand over his heart. “I’ll try really hard to, y’know. Not die. ‘Sides, people live alone all the time. Like you, now. Congratulations.”

Steve knew why Sam was wary of leaving Steve alone. Sam had been with Steve in the harrowing days and weeks after losing his mother. Steve has forgotten to eat, to shower, to take his medication. He had worked himself into a deep, dark place that even Sam, as trained and experienced as he was with helping people through the darkest times, struggled to pull Steve out of.

Sam had seen Steve neglect to take care of himself, but he had been there to force self-care upon Steve. If he was going to live alone, Steve knew Sam was going to worry about something like that happening again.

“Not many people are as accident-prone as you, Rogers,” Sam retorts, though there is real worry under his facade. “And you better not lie to me. Pinky promises are sacred.”

Steve rolls his eyes so hard it kind of hurts. His heart aches for his best friend and the genuine concern he knows Sam will probably struggle with for the first few days of Steve being on his own. “I’ll be fine, Sam. I’m a grown-ass man, perfectly capable of living alone.”

“When are you going to install the security system?” Sam prompts, and Steve closes his eyes and groans so loud it probably wakes up his new neighbours.

The security system had been a gift from Natasha, and an agreement had been reached by Steve, Clint, Nat, and Sam that since Steve was a Helpless Untrained Un-Enhanced 90lb Asthmatic who was Friends With the Avengers, the security system had to be in place for the good of all parties involved. Steve had tried his best to object, but ultimately, he was out-voted. 

“That is a 'next week' issue. I promise I’ll install it, I told you guys I would, but my first priority is making this place liveable so that my stupid lungs don’t crap out on me with all of the dust and the temperature.” Steve shivers for emphasis.

Sam looks wary of that response. “A lot can happen in a week, Steve. I’m getting you a life alert necklace.” He mutters with an accusatory finger, his face scrunching up. “And pepper spray.” That one sounded like a threat. “And so help me _G__od_, Rogers, you will use both.”

Steve opens his mouth to come back with something sly, but is interrupted by the sound of laughter.  
He stops short, eyes darting around the room in confusion, his heart skipping at the surprise of the sound.  
The laugh wasn’t his own, and it wasn’t the full-bellied laugh that was characteristic to Sam. It had come from somewhere on Steve’s left.

But no one was there.

It was more of a short little snort, really. A few chuckles, at most, and raspy. Definitely male.  
Was someone in the house? It had been abandoned for a while, it would make sense that someone could’ve taken to squatting while it was empty. It wasn’t unusual, in New York. He'd checked out the bedroom, but hadn't peered into the closet...

Steve frowns, his heart racing a little. “Did you hear that?” He asks Sam abruptly, his playful demeanour dropping. There is a shift in the air. Steve tilts his head as if listening harder. “I could’ve sworn, I…”

“Hear what?” Sam murmurs, looking around obliviously. He frowns, obviously unable to come up with any plausible reason for Steve’s sudden discomfort. “Steve?”

Steve blinks, shaking his head. “You didn’t...just hear that laugh?” He chews on his lip. “Don’t kid with me, Sam. I’m serious.”

“I think I’d hear if someone laughed at my very serious not-a-joke-threat,” Sam narrows his eyes, trying to follow Steve’s gaze to see where he was looking. “I didn’t hear a thing, Steve. Maybe it was someone through the walls?”

But Steve knew it was way too close, too clear, to have come from his neighbours. It sounded like it was someone standing right behind him.

Steve swallows, but cracks a sheepish grin and forces the worry to melt off of his face. “I guess I’m a little nervous about the move? I coulda swore I heard someone laughing. Sounded like it was coming from...right over there,” he gestures softly to the general direction.

Sam snorts, slapping an affectionate hand over Steve’s back. “Easy, champ. Can’t have you goin’ all crazy on me now. I didn’t mean to freak you out asking about the whole haunted-house thing. It’s like you said, ghosts aren't real, it's just some stupid scary story. Don’t get all worked up about it, yeah?”

Steve smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. ‘Course they ain’t. I’m just a little stressed, I guess. Lots to figure out, with the move. It’s a big step.” He pauses. “I wish my Ma could be here.”

“She’s watching.” Sam reminds Steve softly, and Steve offers a grateful smile in return, but something in his eyes is still sad. Perhaps that sadness is always there, hiding behind the light.

“Maybe you can come with me to take a look around? Make sure there ain’t any monsters hiding in the linen closets?” Steve asks, voice hopeful. He’s really only half kidding.“Please?”

Sam looks genuinely concerned for Steve, probably thinking that the blond hadn’t ever lived alone, especially not in such a large apartment, in a rather sketchy, or, uh, outdated part of town.

Sam nods a couple of times, body relaxing. “Sure, Rogers. You got it. Lets go check it out, yeah?”

"Yeah," Steve breathes, soothed by Sam's easy agreement. 

That marked the first time he ever got a taste of the ghost that lurked.

\--- ---------------------------------

Steve spends the first day moving in and cleaning.

Sam is there in the morning to help Steve move all of his things in, especially the heavier furniture items, but leaves soon after some heckling from Steve, who insisted he had lots of cleaning to do before he could unpack, and that Sam wouldn’t enjoy that in the slightest.

Steve loved cleaning, it was his self-care ritual, and he really just wanted to be alone with his apartment, to let it all soak in.

Steve puts Frank Sinatra on a tinny little speaker, keeping it soft enough to sound a little romantic, just in the background as he begins to unpack the box that contained his cleaning supplies while balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder.

“Nat, hey.” He pauses, rifling through the box to dig out the duster and broom. “Yeah, got all my stuff in here. Looks pretty good, if I do say so myself. Sam is a little….unsure.”

“I’m sure he’s just worried,” Nat reasons, her voice smooth and reasonable, as usual. “You haven’t lived alone...well. Ever.”

“Mm. I know,” Steve sighs, beginning to sweep the dust-packed floors. “I'll be fine, though. He just likes to fuss.”

“I’d like to come see it, judge for myself,” Steve can hear a smile in her voice. She was up to something, probably wanted to scope the place out and install some kind of Russian security device that would shoot missiles at unwanted guests. She meant well. 

“Yeah, I’d like that. Tomorrow evening? Drinks?” Steve offers up, swelling with pride and excitement. “You and Sam and Clint can come. A housewarming of sorts.”

“You sure the ghost won’t mind the company?” She hums, sounding amused. “Sam told me a little about the supposed hauntings of the house.”

Steve presses his lips together. The broom stills as Steve straightens up, and his spine cracks as he does. He lets the silence hang too long, he knew Nat was going to be suspicious.

He tries to sound nonchalant anyways. “It’s nothing, Nat, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“Steve.”

“Really, it’s nothing. Just dumb rumours. People like to talk.”

“Steven.” Shit. When she used his full name, Steve knew he was really in trouble. "It's me. Talk to me."

Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair and staring hard at the floor. “It’s just.” He pauses again, shaking his head. Saying the words out loud felt like too much. “The house was such a good price because it was on the market for a long time. No one wanted to buy it.”

“Because of the ghost.” Her voice is very matter-of-fact. Steve doesn’t know how he feels about that.

Steve purses his lips and decides to just let it out. Nat was very perceptive, it wouldn’t matter what he said; she would know the truth. Might as well be honest. “I know you think I’m crazy, or paranoid, or whatever. But I feel...something here, Nat. I just. I mocked the idea, too, when I first saw the place. But now...I swear I feel like I’m not alone.”

“Steve, look--”

“No, just--I know how it sounds, Nat, believe me. You know I don’t believe in any of that paranormal crap. But yesterday, with Sam, I could’ve _sworn_ that I heard someone laughing when it was just the two of us in here. And today, this whole time I’ve been home it just feels like someone is with me. Like the hairs on the back of my neck won’t go down. I just feel like I’m being watched.” Steve’s heart beats a little faster just at the admission of the feeling he’d had in his gut all day. He looks around nervously, but just as it had been all day, he was alone.

At least, he hoped.

“It’s perfectly natural to not feel safe in a new house. You’re alone, in a…less than ideal part of town. These feelings are to be expected, Steve.” Nat is trying to soothe him, Steve knows, but it only makes him more frustrated. She wasn’t here, didn’t feel the things that Steve knew he felt. “It doesn’t make you crazy.”

“No, no, no. I know I’m safe. I’m fine, Sam checked every nook and corner, there isn’t some weirdo living in my attic, and the area really isn’t that bad, I’ve lived in worse with my Ma. I don’t feel...” Steve waves his hands in the air helplessly, trying to put a name on this feeling. “I don’t feel _threatened_. I just don’t think I’m alone.”

The presence he felt wasn’t a menacing one, but it was there. Watching. Observing. Probably judging Steve’s crackling bones and wheezing lungs. And laughing at him, apparently. At least it had a sense of humour. 

Nat is silent for a long time on the other end. Steve can just hear her quiet breathing. “I see.” She says finally.

“I’m sure you’re right, you know. It’s probably, just. It’s nothing.” Steve looks out the window. The sun is about to go down, casting the apartment in an orangey hue. It made things seem more manageable, with that kind of warmth filling up the space. “I guess I just gotta get settled in, y’know? Weird being in a new place, and all.” He laughs nervously, to shake off the pressing weight on his chest that wasn’t a panic attack, but something else.

Something external, pressing down on him.

“Just take it easy, Steve,” Natasha murmurs. There is something she isn’t telling Steve, Steve knows, but he doesn’t press her. Whatever her opinion on the situation is, Steve was sure she’d share it in good time. Nat always did.

In her line of work, ghosts probably weren’t the craziest things she’d come across, but if she’d faced them before Steve was sure she’d say. She wouldn’t let him spiral like this, if she knew.

“Yeah, I will. I’m fine, really. I’m just paranoid.” Steve lets out a nervous chuckle, and resumes cleaning, sweeping his dirt pile into the dustpan and emptying it in the garbage with absent, tired movements. Saying the words out loud made them feel more true; Steve really was just being paranoid. Things were fine. “Yeah. Okay, I’ll let you go--talk soon. Thanks, Nat. Bye.” Steve pulled the phone away from his ear and set it down on the coffee table.

Steve lets out a little breath that turns into a cough as he shakes his head, muttering to himself. He begins sweeping again, getting a huge dust bunny out of the corner of the living room that releases a dust-bomb into the air around him, snaking its way into his lungs and eyes.

“Ghosts,” He says between breaths and shakes his head at himself. “Goddamn haunted--” he is cut off by a round of coughs that shake his entire body, the dust irritating his lungs and his allergies.

Steve hunches over, unable to catch his breath as the fit of coughs become more and more desperate. He braces himself on the nearest wall with one hand, the other gripping his knee as he bends over, trying to force himself not to panic. He can feel his face glowing red from the strain.

Shit.

“Fuckin’ inhaler,” he curses, mind clouding with the need to breathe. “Shit.”

Steve needed to breathe. The dust was so bad, and Steve needed to breathe, now. _Where the hell had he put his inhaler?_

Goddammit. If he dies from an asthma attack Sam will be _so_ pissed. And at Steve’s funeral, he’ll just keep repeating _I told you so_ to Steve’s coffin in a smug little way and Steve couldn’t let him do that. He _would not stand_ for that shit.

He needed his goddamn inhaler.

Steve’s breath gets shorter, more panicked as he stumbles around the living room, hands searching clumsily over the counter and into the drawer closest to the fridge.

_Where the fuck did he put it? Where was it, where was it, dammit--_

It wasn’t in the drawer. _Shit,_ Steve thinks, wracking his mind--he knew it was foolish to not immediately designate a spot for it upon getting to the house. His breathing becomes more panicked as he struggles to locate it, the genuine fear of passing out creeping in.

This was his new reality. Steve was alone, and when shit hit the fan, he was the only one around to deal with it. He was learning that lesson the hard way--Sam wasn’t around to curse and run around and find his puffer for him anymore.

There was only Steve and the empty apartment, and his wheezing breaths.

Just as Steve is getting lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, a drawer on the opposite end of the kitchen flies open, startling him. He watches in breathless amazement as his inhaler practically jumps out of the drawer and rolls towards him on the ground, stopping just inches away from his toes.

Steve stares blankly, trying to process what the hell just happened, before he decides he doesn’t give a fuck how his inhaler got to him, just that he needed air, _now._

He reaches for it desperately, when finally his fingers make purchase with the medication, shaking and fumbling as he inhales deeply.

Steve coughs a few times but begins to catch his breath as the inhaler works to calm his angry lungs. He feels relief wash over him in a great flood.  
He carefully and deliberately sets the inhaler on the counter where it would be clearly visible, scolding himself for making such a stupid mistake as he catches his breath in heaving gasps.

_What the hell had just happened?_  
Steve knew that drawers didn’t just fly open, and inhalers didn’t fall out and roll on their own. His mind flashes to the rumours he’d heard about the place, about the terrible ‘ghost’ that haunted the apartment and wouldn’t leave its inhabitants alone long enough to let them settle in.

The ghost supposedly drove everyone away. Steve didn’t know how much of that nonsense he could buy into, but there was no doubting what he had witnessed.

“Dammit,” Steve mutters to himself, clearing his throat and running a hand through his hair. He was still a little shaky, his movements jerky from the exhaustion and come-down of adrenaline. His mind was flooded with questions.

“Dammit is right,” he hears a smooth voice comment, which makes him jump a little and curl his hands into fists, immediately ready for a fight. It was instinct, really. He didn’t feel threatened, just startled. Unsure. It was the anticipation.

“Hello?” Steve whispers, backing himself up against a wall and looking around wildly. “A-Are you there?” He’s not sure who he’s talking to, but it feels like the appropriate thing to say.

There is nothing but silence, and Steve is left feeling dumber than ever. His hands fall limp to his sides in defeat.

Steve’s jaw clenches and unclenches. He trusted his gut, dammit. He knew he heard a voice, clear as day. Clearer even than the laugh he’d heard when Sam was in the room--and he knew that whatever had happened with his inhaler, it defied the laws of physics and gravity. Those were the facts, and they weighed heavily on him. Either he’d seen and heard what he thought he had, or he was going crazy.

“I heard you,” Steve says defiantly, sticking up his chin. “I-I know someone is here, just. Just show yourself. You’re safe. I won’t hurt you.”

He hearts a snort.

An honest to god _snort_. The ghost was _laughing_ at him. The fuckin’ ghost that haunted Steve’s fuckin’ apartment was fuckin’ _enjoying_ this.  
Steve’s confusion, his apprehension. It was getting a kick out of it.

“Least you could do is not laugh at me,” Steve mutters, looking around self consciously. “I’m not afraid of you or anything. I’m pretty sure...I think you may have possibly just saved my life?” he laughs nervously, it sounds forced and unnatural. He feels crazy. “So. It might be nice, to. To meet you. And to say thanks.” That was probably wise, right? Make friends with the supernatural being that haunted his apartment. He definitely didn't want to piss it off. That would probably be...bad.

Steve waits, but in turn, he gets...nothing.  
Silence. Empty air. Dancing dust particles.

“They say this place is haunted,” Steve relaxes his posture slightly but doesn’t let the tension fully seep away. Part of him wants to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, shake it all off like nothing happened, and ignore the signs of someone else lingering. “That there is a pretty mean ghost that likes to run people out of the apartment. S’why this place has been on the market for so damn long. Ghosts aren’t the ideal roommates, apparently.”

The larger part of Steve, however, was as curious as ever. Steve didn’t like unanswered questions, he didn’t appreciate mysteries. He wanted answers.

“I didn’t want to believe them, at first, ‘cause--’cause ghosts ain’t real, but. I’m not stupid. I can feel someone there. My ma taught me to always trust my gut, and. I know that I feel some…..something.” Steve slides his back down against the wall, sitting down on the floor with hunched shoulders. He was talking to a ghost that didn’t want to talk back. “And I just heard you--and I know I ain’t crazy.”

As he said the words, he wasn’t sure he believed them. Steve was sure he’d heard something, but--brains play tricks all the time, and he was going through a lot.

And yet, even as he reasoned with himself, goosebumps rose on his arms from the rush of cool air.

“I’m proud of this apartment, and I plan on sticking around. So you’re kinda stuck with me, and I’m stuck with you.” Steve inhales deeply, and he’s grateful when his lungs don’t protest. “So please don’t….like, y’know kill me, or something. In case you just saw, my lungs, and my body in general, tries to kill me often enough without some angry spirit helpin’ the process along.” Steve laughs a little at himself but it sounds forced.

“Christ. Listen to me, talking to myself about ghosts.” Steve lets his head fall softly back against the wall, feeling very defeated and very small. “Jesus.”

He hears a hum of agreement from somewhere in the shadows.

This time, Steve doesn’t jump. He’s too tired to do that. He just arches a brow, and nods softly. “Mmhm. Yeah. You agree. Awesome. Glad we’re on the same page ‘bout that.”

Even the ghost thinks he’s crazy.

“I’m Steve, by the way,” Steve murmurs as if an afterthought. If they were going to be roommates, they should at least get acquainted. “I dunno if you know that. Steven Grant Rogers. Can you read minds?”

The ghost doesn’t answer. Apparently it wasn’t very conversational.

Steve sighs, shaking his head. “Look what my life has come to,” he mumbled under his breath, hauling himself to his feet slowly, feeling the groan of his muscles. “Just fuckin’ insane.”

He shakes off the tension and tries to ignore the feeling of cool air following him as he walks the short distance to the stove where he grabs the kettle and fills it with water, settling it over the stove.  
The ritual of making tea was just as comforting to Steve as the actual tea itself, and some comfort is what he needed right about now.

He rummages around in a box labeled “kitchen” to find a mug that reads #ShortPeopleProbs that was a gag-gift from Sam for Christmas last year. Truthfully, the mug was the biggest one he owns, and therefore it was typically his go-to choice. He tended to ignore the saying.

He wasn’t _that_ short, dammit.

Steve listens to the kettle boil, thankful for some white noise to go with the soft music that crooned out of his speaker. When the water is boiled, he pours it into the mug, happily inhaling the aromas that drifted from the herbal tea.

It reminded him of his mother, her gentle fingers curled around her favourite floral mug, the line of her red lipstick staining the rim of it as she hummed to herself and read the paper. The smell of herbal tea would fill the kitchen on those soft Sunday mornings, the light filtering in to frame her golden hair like a halo. His guardian angel.

God. Steve missed her.

That’s when Steve’s phone rings again, and the shrill sound makes Steve start and nearly drop the spoon he was holding.  
It seemed so far that everything was able to put him on edge; the ghost situation had him on his toes, and any little sound or disturbance in the air that wasn’t expected made Steve’s heart race.

Wondering who it could be, Steve wanders away to follow the sound of his phone ringing, not paying any attention to the stove he had left on high.  
__________________________

Later that night, after getting off the phone, Steve dreams of being watched.  
A thousand eyes, sunken into the drywall of his bedroom and unblinking, they follow his every move, they don’t have pupils, they’re colourless and cold.  
And yet.  
And yet he feels _safe._


	2. Are You Good?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell me, Steve. Have you met him yet?” Peggy asks with a curious tilt of her head. 
> 
> Steve frowns, not catching on. He takes another bite of pie, already shaking his head. “I’m sorry, who? You’re the first neighbour I’ve met here. Just moved in the other day.”
> 
> “Not a neighbour. Him. James.” Peggy explains. She watches him with a steady gaze, as if expecting him to lie and wanting to catch his tell. “Have you met him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read, commented and left kudos on the first chapter!! I know I said updates would be weekly but I got TOO excited to post another chapter. It's a bit of a longer one, so I hope you enjoy :) 
> 
> Enjoy :) 
> 
> P.S. - have you had enough water today??///

_So are you good?_

_Cause I don’t feel right _

_Are you strong?_

_Cause I’m so damned tired_

_What do you want from me?_

_Maybe you already have it_

_Will we ever reach the point where this fits me like a man?_

  
“Evil”, James Vincent McMorrow  
_________________________________________________

Steve wakes up in pain. It’s the dull ache that comes in the damp mornings, when his bones creak and his muscles protest every movement.  
He blinks up at the ceiling and clenches his jaw, a feeling of dread washing over him. His body was always working against him, trying to confine him to the bed like a fragile old man.

_Well, too damn bad_. Steve had shit to do.  
Clint, Nat and Sam were all coming over tonight, and he had a long ways to go to make the apartment look presentable enough to ensure his friends didn't worry about him living there. He had to finish cleaning and unpacking the smaller items he hadn't fully gotten around to, the necessities for having company over, like dish wear and cutlery. 

He wasn’t sure how much of that he’d be able to get to in one day, but at the very least, he wanted the house to be clean. His lungs could benefit greatly from dealing with the insane amount of dust that had built up over the months of the apartment being vacant, and he didn’t want his guests to have a bad impression of the place even more than they already did. He really wanted to win them over.

Steve sits up in bed and pumps his fingers like his doctors suggested, to get his circulation going. He is grateful when he feels the blood begin to rush back in.  
Promptly ignoring the protest of his bones and muscles, he stretches and inhales, coughing just a little thanks to the dust. He’d be glad to get that in order.

“Mornin’,” Steve sighs dryly to himself, looking around the master bedroom. It was mostly bare, save for the plants that were scattered around, having been the one thing that Steve unpacked. Besides that, his bed, and a few other random furniture items around the house, there wasn’t much that was set up. He had a lot to do today. He grabs his glasses from the window sill beside his bed and shoves them onto his face unceremoniously.

The apartment still, in a way, looked rather abandoned. He had yet to make it a home.

Steve was a morning person and liked getting up early, so the day was young and there was a dark cast over the room, the sun having not risen just yet.  
There was not a minute to waste, and now with getting up so early, he’d get to enjoy the light the sun would bring into the many windows of the house. Steve always loved watching the sunrise.

He feels that haunting presence again and tries to push it to the back of his mind, having forgotten about his experience yesterday until he feels the brush of cold air against his right arm as he stands from the bed.

And then the memories of yesterday’s harrowing experience come rushing back, all at once.

The hair on the back of his neck rises and his muscles lock mid-stretch, the only sound being his slightly wheezy breath and the faint whine of traffic outside the window.  
Slowly, he forces himself to relax. He lets his arms fall to his sides, and he lifts his chin, willing himself not to be afraid.

_Ghosts are not real._ Anything and everything he’d experienced yesterday was the result of lack of sleep, too many horror movies, and paying too much attention to old folk stories that were spread around in connection to the apartment.

Steve pretends, the best he can, that he doesn’t sense anything, that he is deceiving himself. After all, if ghosts were real, where was his Ma when he was crying himself to sleep in their apartment every night after she left? Why hadn’t it felt like she was there, with him?

If she had the choice, why would she abandon Steve like that?  
Steve closes his eyes and willfully forces the thoughts of ghosts and death away for now--he was determined to have a good day.  
He slips his feet into his bumble-bee slippers and shuffles into the kitchen, the antennas on the bees bobbing cheerily as he walked.

He runs a finger along the walls of the hallway as he makes his way into the kitchen, feeling and appreciating the lumps in the walls, the cracks and chips. He couldn't even begin to imagine the kind of history the apartment had witnessed.   
As he turned the corner into the kitchen, Steve realized the kettle was exactly where he’d left it last night, on the stove, waiting for him to make his morning tea.  
As Steve grabs a mug, sharp panic makes him double back to the stove, eyes wide and confused.  
A client had called late last night about a painting commission and Steve had danced away from the stove in order to get the phone before voicemail could pick it up--

He didn’t remember returning to the stove to shut it off, and even the sugar was out on the counter beside the kettle, where Steve hadn’t returned to put it away. He never would have come back and left the sugar out like that, he hated clutter.

He was sure that the old stove didn’t have auto shut-off, so...how did it turn off on it’s own?

_It didn’t_. Someone did this--some_thing,_ Steve knew, deep down.  
It was illogical, completely insane, out of this world...and yet. And yet he knew. There was a feeling in his chest that stubbornly fixated on the idea and refused to consider any other possibility, connecting the dots with the previous incidents to come to one chilling conclusion.

“Casper the friendly ghost,” he whispers to himself, clenching his jaw, and he feels a brush of cool air against the back of his neck, almost like someone was standing right behind him, agreeing.

Steve inhales sharply and twists around, looking around the room in disbelief. “God,” He pants, the panic rising in his throat. “Don’t…._don’t_ sneak up on me like that, whoever you are. Just. I need some space, okay? Can you do that? Give a guy some frickin’ space?” He nearly snarls into the thin air.

This was crazy. He was talking to a ghost. A _ghost._

To his shock, the cold air backs off.  
Steve inhales a shaky breath. He can't dismiss the reaction as a pure coincidence.

There is a ghost. That much is now undeniable. Even as crazy as it sounded in his own head, Steve couldn’t deny the signs any longer. He knew what happened yesterday--hell, he had pretty much had a conversation with the damn ghost--and he couldn't keep pretending like every weird thing that happened was just his wild imagination. 

His previous roommate had fought aliens, robots--all kinds of supernatural creatures, on the daily. Would ghosts existing really be so impossible? So out of this world crazy? 

Steve's apartment is haunted, just as the stories said.  
Steve had found the reason no one stuck around in this place. And yet--the ghost hadn’t been terrible to him, so far. It had found him his inhaler. It had obliged him. It prevented a fire.

“Uh, thank you. That’s...a lot better.” He swallows, and turns back around very slowly, to resume making his tea. He focuses on making his breathing even and deep.  
Steve was never one to believe in the supernatural. He had been religious, before his ma died, but after losing her it was hard to imagine that God would let such terrible things happen to such good and devoted people. Steve turned away from the church, after that. He hadn’t looked back.

He’d never given much thought to the existence of any kind of afterlife that didn’t involve something peaceful. He wanted to imagine his mother somewhere comfortable, like a dreamland perhaps, where she could dance to all her favourite music and was at peace.  
The idea of the undead haunting the places they’d died...Steve hadn’t considered it.  
Only now he was _living_ with it. The reality hit him very hard, as he tried actively to rationalize his situation. 

Steve had a roommate, is all. He’s had them before. He is just living with another person who...is dead. And who he knows nothing about, and who, presumably, has made living in the house very unpleasant for every other previous owner.

_S’fine._

“Thank you,” He murmurs, staring into his mug. He blinks slow, maintaining his composure. “For turning off the stove. You...probably--definitely--saved me from a fire. That’s twice now that you’ve saved me.” He pauses, rubbing a hand through his hair. He had to make peace. “You’re not so bad. Maybe we can be friends.”

There is no reply. Steve’s not even sure if he was expecting one.

He sips his tea and watches the sunrise, and promptly ignores both the intense feeling of being watched and the cold air that lingers in the sun-warm kitchen.  
***  
Steve cleans. _All. Damn. Day._ He focuses on it, long and hard, and lets it be a welcome distraction. He doesn’t think about things going bump in the night, or his "roommate", or anything else except _cleaning_.

He opens the windows, and lets the clean, crisp fall air waft in, replacing the stale air that had accumulated. It made it a lot easier for Steve to attribute his goosebumps to the cold air caused by the open windows, rather than by...something else.

The noise from the traffic outside floated in and comforted him, filling the otherwise eerie silence. On top of that, Steve plays music while he works. He doesn’t like it too loud, he keeps it to a soft croon, just loud enough to be heard over the background noise of New York traffic.

Although he tries his best not to let it, eventually Steve’s mind wanders while he scrubs the floors clean. His mind wanders to his mother, and his heart gives a sad little squeeze as it always did whenever he thought about her.  
She’d know what to do, if Steve told her he thought his house was haunted. Steve’s mother always knew what to do, in any situation, and she was very spiritual. She wouldn’t laugh at him or call him crazy. She’d look at him with those big, round blue eyes, and give him a small, understanding smile.

She’d say, _Alrighty then, Buttercup. Let’s put on a tea, and work it out._

Steve, slowly, gets to his feet, admiring the floor. It was free of any built-up crud and dust that had accumulated, and now that it was clean enough to eat off of, Steve could appreciate the knots and bends in the original hardwood floors, years of footsteps old and young wearing them down.

Creaky as they may be, they were beautiful. And they were his.  
***  
A knock on his door startles Steve out of his cleaning-induced happiness a few hours later. He turns down his music and frowns into the hallway, wondering if he had really heard a knock or if it was his paranoid mind playing tricks. It was too early for Sam, Nat and Clint to be showing up, and Steve hadn’t been expecting anyone else over.

Sure enough, there was another knock, a little more persistent.

Steve straightens up, setting the washcloth he’d been using to wipe down the walls aside and dusting his hands off on his pants.  
He was apprehensive.

His, uh,_ roommate_, could easily be playing a prank on him. Previous renters reported hearing knocking on the doors and walls all the time, so Steve was hesitant and quite frankly a little nervous as he approached the door.

He stretches up on his toes to peek through the peephole in the door and sighs in relief when he sees a sweet-looking elderly woman, holding a pie and wearing a small smile. It must be one of his neighbours making an introduction--Steve mentally kicks himself for not being the first one to reach out. His Ma would have frowned upon it. 

Steve brushes his dusty hands on his jeans and opens the door, smiling back shyly. “Hi, there. Can I help you?”

“You must be my new neighbour,” the woman smiles. Her voice is warm, and weathered like most elderly people, a British accent curling around the edges of her speech. Her grey hair is pressed into neat pin-curls, and her eyes sparkle with a kind of youth. “I’m Peggy. Peggy Carter. I live next door.” She gives him a full smile and a wink, and Steve decides he instantly likes her.

“Oh!” Steve exclaims. “Great, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Steve, Steve Rogers.” He offers her a hand to shake, and is extra careful with her fragile fingers when they’re pressed confidently into his. “Sorry I haven’t had a chance to introduce myself yet--this place needs a lot of tender lovin' care.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Peggy tells him warmly. “I’m just nosey, had to meet the brave soul who was taking on this place. I baked you this pie,” She offers proudly, thrusting it into Steve’s chest. “I hope you like apple.”

Steve smiles softly. “It’s my favourite, ma’am.” He accepts the offering gratefully, and then steps aside, minding his manners, just as his Ma taught him. “Would you like to come in? It’s not much right now, but--”

“Oh,” Peggy’s eyes glimmer once again. They’re quite full of life, Steve notices. “Nonsense, I’m sure it’s a hundred times lovelier than when you first got the keys. I would love to come in.” She strides into the apartment with none of the hesitancy of a stranger as if she and Steve have been friends for years.

She seems like she knows the layout of the place and Steve assumes all the apartments on the floor are the same layout, hence her confidence in navigating her way to the kitchen.  
Peggy seems satisfied. She looks around, tutting her tongue. “My, my, you’ve been busy, hmm? Smells like fresh air in here, that’s a first.” She inhales deeply, closing her eyes. “Could get used to that.”

Steve snorts, and sets the pie down carefully on the counter, gesturing to his modest dining room table with two chairs. He was thankful he’d at least gotten around to setting that up. “Have a seat? I’d give you the tour but things are a mess right now, truthfully. I just got possession yesterday so I’ve got a lot of work to do still, there really isn’t much to see until then.”

Peggy hums thoughtfully and sits down slowly, as though she feels the protest in her bones and muscles at the movement. Steve could empathize. “You’re sweet,” She says, almost absently, as though talking to herself.

Steve flushes a little at the compliment. “Sweet as salt, maybe. Pie?”

Peggy nods dismissively, too interested in surveying the space before her. He grabs two plates and sets them out, then gets to work cutting the pie and puts a slice on each of their plates. He was glad he'd gotten around to at least unpacking the dish wear before Peggy had gotten there. It would have been mortifying to not have anything to serve her with. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Peggy laughs softly and collapses her hands together on the table. “What a charmer,” she winks at him. Steve winks back in friendly companionship and feels in instant trust between them. Maybe what he told Sam was right; he would be getting multiple grandmothers out of this deal, and it was awesome.

Peggy’s air wasn't overly maternal, though. She did have something caring about her, but there was something acutely aware as she sat up straight in the chair, eyes surveying the apartment. It reminded Steve vaguely of a soldier categorizing entry and exit points. He could almost see the gears turning behind those sparkling brown eyes, not unlike the look many of Steve's students at the VA got when entering his class for the first time.

She nods in thanks when Steve sets the slice of pie and fork down before her.

Steve takes a seat across from her, and shovels up an experimental bite, groaning in delight.

“Jeez. This is amazing. Taste like my Ma’s.” And it did; it was just the right amount of cinnamon, the crust was even the same buttery texture, just like Sarah’s. Steve is just about to ask Peggy for the recipe when her smiling eyes grow curious and inquisitive.

“Tell me, Steve. Have you met him yet?” Peggy asks with a curious tilt of her head.

Steve frowns, not catching on. He takes another bite of pie, already shaking his head. “I’m sorry, who? You’re the first neighbour I’ve met here. Just moved in the other day.”

“Not a neighbour. Him. James.” Peggy explains. She watches him with a steady gaze, as if expecting him to lie and wanting to catch his tell. “Have you met him?”

Steve wracks his brain, trying to remember meeting anyone named James in the last week or so, but comes up empty. He doesn't want to sound rude, but he is beginning to wonder about Peggy's soundness of mind, with the expectant way she watched him. “Can’t recall anyone by that name. Where might I have met this man?”

“Well, right here, of course!” Peggy laughs, gesturing to the house. Her smile fades a little, grows sad around the corners. “He’s everywhere in this apartment.”

Steve’s heart sinks a little, and his mind becomes filled with dread. He almost doesn’t register his lips moving when he says, “The ghost.” He couldn’t believe he hadn’t caught on before--of course all the tenants in the apartments knew about the infamous ghost that haunted it.

Peggy’s smile only grows, but there is nothing crazy or untrustworthy in her eyes. Only something warm and wise, if a little sad. She looked, in that moment, like an old woman who had seen a great lot of tragedy in her lifetime, perhaps more than she deserved. “So you have?”

“Not exactly,” Steve explains, looking out the window. Part of Steve wishes they could talk about something else, but the larger part of him is burning with questions and wonders what Peggy has to say about his ghost. The topic makes him uncomfortable, like discussing it makes the truth more real. “I’ve heard...him. You said his name is James?”

“So you have. His name, yes. James.” Peggy agrees, nodding eagerly. “Lovely young man. Quite the heartbreaker in his day,”

Steve’s confusion grows. “You...knew him or something?” He asks slowly, trying to gage if maybe Peggy’s old age intuition could be trusted or if he should be wary of her.

“Not these days,” She shakes her head and looks down at her hands. “Once, though. Back when he was alive and I was much, much younger. We were in the war together,” She recalls, going somewhere far back in her memories. “I can’t see him anymore. Not for many years, now. But I can feel him. I know he’s here. He’s been driving people out since he passed. He’s not much for company these days. But then, if I were stuck here, unable to leave or move on, I wouldn’t be all too pleasant, either.”

At that moment, a cold spot brushes up against Steve’s shoulder. Peggy must feel it too because her smile widens. “James,” She greets softly. Her eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles, showing years of laughter had worn them down. “It’s been too long.”

The cold spot grows closer to Peggy, so much so that her breath appears visible as a small cloud on her exhales.

She shudders, and makes a shooing motion with her hand, frowning disapprovingly. “Alright, enough. I get it, you’re grumpy. Don’t get an old woman cold like that. It’s impolite. My circulation isn’t what it used to be, James.”  
The cold spot backs off immediately, and Peggy sighs, tucking her silver hair behind her ear. She looks Steve with a knowing tilt of her head and leans in, as if whispering something secretive, though Steve is pretty sure if the ghost wanted to hear, it would.

“You see, he’s quite temperamental. It must be frustrating, being able to see and hear, but not to be seen or heard,” She murmurs. “So try not to be too hard on him,” Peggy looks away from him then, frowning around the room. “And I’ll ask that he isn’t too hard on you, either. He did have manners once, I’m sure he could find it within himself to use them again.”

Steve could see that Peggy had a point--if he and Peggy were sane, and there really was a ghost in his apartment, then it would be frustrating, lingering in one place and being so cut off from the world, only able to observe it.

“Did you visit the other people who lived here?” Steve blurts suddenly. He needs to know if he was part of a long tradition of the ghost driving people out. He had no intention of leaving.

Peggy arches her brow. “Yes.” She says it in a way that dares Steve to ask more.

He bites, sitting up taller in his seat. “And?”

“And not one of them were anything like you,” She takes another bite of the pie, and chews slowly, taking her time before continuing. “You, Steven, are stubborn. I can tell. You’ve already begun cleaning, begun making this place a home. No one else who bought the place did that. They felt too…how did they describe it?” She waves her fork in contemplation. “Uneasy about the place, to settle in. You don’t have that uneasiness, do you?”

Steve shakes his head. Ghost or not, he would make this place his home. 

“You’re different.”  
Steve didn’t know how true that was. He certainly wasn’t the teen protagonist in a dystopian novel, a boy like no other who was destined to change the order of things and save the world. He was an asthmatic artist with an affinity for falling down, getting in fights, and putting his glasses in different places every time he takes them off. He only wanted to make this apartment home, like Peggy had said. He wasn't built to handle ghosts. 

“I’m not going to leave,” Steve tells Peggy, and the ghost. James. He wanted James to hear this, too. “I like this apartment and I plan on sticking around for a long time, so. James can bug me all he wants but I’m not going to run away with my tail between my legs.” he sticks his chin up, waiting for Peggy to make some comment about how everyone says that at first. “I don’t like bullies.”

Instead, she grins at him. “I like you, dear. And since you don’t seem to be afraid of James... I think he may like you, too. Perhaps you’re exactly what he needs.”  
Steve didn’t know a thing about what a ghost might need, but he decided if James liked him it was a good thing. They could co-exist, peacefully. It didn't have to be a scary thing. Peggy certainly didn't seem to be afraid of him. 

“You knew him,” Steve wants to know more about James, to humanize the cold rushes of air, the dead man who kept saving his life in small but not-so-small ways. “How did he…die?” It was the first question that had popped into Steve's mind, a major part of James' journey, that would have led him here, to this apartment. Steve was half afraid that it was a brutal murder, taking place in his master bedroom, or something equally as terrible. He waits with held breath. 

Peggy lets out a long sigh and crosses her ankles tenderly. “He fell.”

At that, there is a rush of cold hair so strong that Steve’s hair blows back from his face and a door upstairs slams shut a few minutes later.

Steve sputters in shock and jumps at the loud bang of the door, his heart beating fast. He looks to Peggy, but she is unafraid, if a little frustrated. She takes another bite of pie, and listens to the wind howl. A long silence sits between them.

Peggy tuts disapprovingly and folds her hands together after a few moments of silence. “He fell from a train on a mission. James was part of a special unit of unique individuals. He was a sniper, incredibly talented.” She shakes her head in dismay. “His body was never recovered--we buried an empty casket so his mother and sister had somewhere to mourn him.”

Steve takes this information in and breathes it out. He was living with the ghost of a soldier from the Second World War, who had died falling from a train. Yet, he haunted this apartment, not a graveyard, or a train, or his final resting place.  
Here. Steve’s apartment. None of the movies or TV he’d seen on ghosts backed this logic up.

“Why is he here...of all places?” Steve blurts, before he has the chance to stop himself.

Peggy smiles softly. “James lived here, before the war. I guess some places never really stop feeling like home.”

Steve remembers the apartment he and his mother shared; the leaky faucet, the floorboards that groaned with every step, pencil markings on the wall that got higher and higher as Steve grew. He knew Peggy was right.

“So you knew him, and you moved here, to be with him? Were you two…” Steve trails off, not wanting to pry, but also desperately curious.

Peggy lets out a peal of delighted laughter, putting a hand on her chest like Steve had just cracked the funniest joke in the world. “Me with James Barnes?” She laughs again, shaking her head. “Oh! Dear, if you had known him then you’d get why I think that’s so funny. James was quite infamous for his charm. He had a new girl on his arm every week, never kept them around for long. He flirted with me, sure. James flirted with anything that walked and talked. But he was a can of worms I wasn’t about to open.” Peggy chuckled. “He was handsome, though,” her eyes sparkled. “Too handsome for his own good.”

“I see,” Steve smiles fondly. He liked Peggy and her laughter. “And is it just by chance that you both ended up here again, after the war?”

“I’d heard some people talking at a cafe nearby about a supposed haunting at this building, in James’s old apartment. I went to investigate, and I heard his voice.” Peggy smiles. “As soon as I walked in, I heard his voice. It sounded just like it had during the war, saying _welcome home, sweetheart_,--”

Steve gasped. As Peggy told the story, he heard a raspy, soft voice speak over hers, saying _welcome home, sweetheart_ in tandem with her. He knew it was James--the same voice he’d heard before, but Peggy continues on like she hadn’t heard a thing.

“--and I recognized his voice instantly; it’s quite unique. I knew I had to move in, but James was too temperamental and he fussed over me, day and night. He can be quite the mother hen, and it made me feel old. A woman needs independence, you know. So I did the next best thing; moved in across the hall. And here we are.”

“Didn’t you hear that?” Steve asks, eyebrows raised. His heart rate starts to climb. Steve knew what he had heard, there was no way he’d imagined it...but Peggy hadn’t reacted at all to the voice. She hadn’t even flinched. “I heard it. He just--”

Peggy raises her eyebrows. “Hear what?”

“You didn’t hear him? I could’ve sworn he just--I thought…” Steve shakes his head, not wanting Peggy to think he was making fun of her or making up stories about the ghost she clearly believed in and knew once.

But she doesn’t laugh. Instead, Peggy looks at him with wonder in her eyes. “You really can hear him speak.”

Steve hesitates before nodding softly. “I’ve heard him a few times, now.”

Peggy lets out a long breath, settling back further in her chair. “My,” She murmurs, shaking her head in disbelief. “Something must be changing if you can hear him. I haven’t been able to in years.”  
_Something must be changing._ The thought echoed in Steve’s head. What could be changing, and what did it have to do with him?

Peggy then lets out a small huff of hair and claps her hands together, relieving the tension in the room and startling Steve out of his inner trance. “He won’t hurt you,” She reassures him as she gingerly stands, brushing the pie crumbs off of her dress. “James has a good heart, dear. Please try to see it.”

Steve wants desperately to believe her but his head is swimming with information, and he was unable to truly process anything he’d learned. Instead, he urges those thoughts away--he could obsessive over them later.  
He takes Peggy's elbow gently and walks her across the hallway to his apartment.

“Thank you for the pie,” Steve says politely, because his Ma taught him manners, dammit, even when he was in the midst of an existential crisis.

Peggy purses her lips thoughtfully, pausing at the threshold of Steve’s apartment. “Mmhm,” She hums, giving Steve a once over. “I’ve got a good feeling, Steven. You’ll be good for him.” With that, She leaves Steve standing speechless in the hallway, and she closes the door behind herself with a wink.

***  
Steve returns to his apartment in a daze, his mind echoing all of the things Peggy had divulged. Was any of it true?  
How could it not be? Steve was there. He felt the cool air, heard the door slamming...he had heard the voice, as real as any other ever had been, telling the story as Peggy did, with a certain kind of fondness in his tone.  
_Like old friends._

Steve knew it was time to face the music.  
He was living with a real, not-imaginary-not-a-hallucination-ghost, that had once been friends with his neighbuor across the hall in the 40’s. During the war.

It was a lot to handle, it was too much. Steve had friends coming over tonight, he needed to focus on that for now. The ghost thing could wait another day, couldn’t it? James had already been around for so many years, Steve was sure he could hang out in the background of the apartment and Steve’s mind for at least a little bit longer.

He needed to clean--Peggy had interrupted his focus. Cleaning was easy, mindless. He’d put his music back on, and get to work. He would not allow himself to think of dead things or allegedly handsome ghosts.

***

Steve let himself have a few hours of focusing on nothing but preparing the apartment for company. He put his headphones in, blasted music, and ignored absolutely every cold spot he came across. Most of the apartment had been cleaned to his liking, but he’d left the kitchen for last.  
Since it’s an open concept with his living room, it’s one of the largest rooms in the apartment, and the dust seemed to accumulate in the open space.

Steve gives it a hefty once over, hands on his hips, appraising the work he had ahead. Although the floors had been washed, the countertops were grimy, and the upper level cupboards needed to be scrubbed furiously before Steve could be at peace with them. He was a bit embarrassed that Peggy had seen the apartment in such a condition, but at least she hadn't seemed put-off about it. Despite the dust, it was still probably the best the apartment had looked in years.

The rest of the apartment looked lovely if Steve did say so himself. He’d even gone through the trouble of using an old toothbrush and some soap to clean the window sills that had a build-up of hardened dust and dirt, and the glass was sparkling. The light that filtered in through them made the space so bright and cheery, it almost made him forget what was lurking. 

And he knew that once the kitchen was done, Steve would be able to unpack a few things, here and there, to make the place look a little less haunted-creepy-empty before his friends came over later on tonight. Although most of the main furniture items were set up, Steve had a few IKEA boxes of furniture he’d need to put together, and some decor that would help make the apartment feel like home. He still had time. Even if he didn't get to all of it before his friends arrived, he was pretty confident that by the time they came over, the apartment would look like a place where a real person lived, not just a ghost and some squatters. 

He wanted his friends to be proud of him, to trust that buying this apartment was the right decision. Ghost or not, this apartment belonged to Steve, now.  
And it was up to him to make it his home.

Steve let out a long breath, and squinted up at the top of the cupboards, adjusting his glasses. With all of the dust in the air, Steve didn’t want to put his contacts in, and the frames kept sliding down on his nose annoyingly.

The top of the cupboards was too high up for Steve to reach, or even really see, and he had absolutely no idea what box his small step ladder wound up in.

He’d have to improvise.

Squinting around with a contemplative look on his face, Steve opts for a rickety stool he’d been using as a plant stand, and takes a deep breath, hoping his weight wouldn’t cause the old thing to give out. Considering he’d bought it at a thrift store for three dollars about four years ago, it was 50/50 whether the thing would hold fast or not. He was gonna take his chances.

Steve grabs the organic multi-surface cleaner he’d been using, and a cloth, and climbs up onto the stool with very little grace and finesse.  
He manages to balance precariously on top of the stool, teetering on his tippy toes to be able to accurately see the tops of the cupboards.

Trying not to make any sudden movements that would cause him to lose his balance, Steve sprays a couple squirts on the surface, and then wipes away the dust. The results were immediately satisfying, but the uneven floor causes the stool to tilt wildly. His heart races with the movement, and he swallows loudly, his muscles locking in places.

Steve feels ice cold air at the back of his neck, as if winter itself was breathing right behind him.  
Steve gets a wild idea that perhaps the ghost will tip the stool, causing him to fall. Perhaps the fall would even be fatal, with Steve’s rickety health history, he didn’t know what ailments a fall from this high up would trigger. Collapsed lung? Maybe. Concussion? Almost certainly.

But Steve’s ghost was friendly, wasn’t it? It had given Steve his inhaler. It had turned off the stove. It wanted Steve to be okay.

Peggy hadn’t made it seem like Steve was in any danger. In fact, Peggy made it seem like Steve was _safer_ with the ghost. What had she said the ghost’s name was? James?

“Hey, there, buddy,” Steve mumbles nervously, fingertips holding on to the counter in a white-knuckle grip. “I’m just. Cleaning up, y’know? Getting the place all spiffy for us. So don’t uh, get any wild ideas ‘bout throwing me off of this thing, yeah?” The cold spot makes him shiver, goosebumps covering his arms. “C-Cut it out, will you? I’m freezing.”

The cold air doesn’t go away. Apparently, Casper wasn’t keen to listen to Steve on this particular morning.  
Steve hopes he hasn’t caught the guy in a bad mood.

Steve just grits his teeth and scrubs harder. “It’s gross up here,” he announces, leaning forward on his toes so he could reach further to wipe away more grime, “So I gotta clean it. All this damn dust, with my allergies--”

And then the stool tips.  
The shift in Steve’s weight from him leaning forward to see more of the cupboard makes two of four legs come up, and Steve flails his arms in panic, about to go down in a hard mess of sharp limbs and wood, when the stool defies all the laws of gravity and physics, and rights itself.

Steve gasps and tenses, trying not to move a muscle as the stool stabilizes seemingly on its own, against every single law of physics that Steve knew about. Things in motion don’t just automatically correct themselves because 90 pound white boys are balanced on them. Steve was pretty sure that law was universal or something.

Steve’s breathing picks up, in a panicky sort of way. He climbs carefully down until both of his feet are firmly on the floor, and leans bodily against the counter, shoulders hunched in and chest heaving wildly. That could have been _very bad. _Sam would have never forgiven him if he'd broken an arm his first full day alone in the apartment. 

“Easy there, kitten. You’re alright,” A voice--James--croons from right behind him. Steve whirls around, but no one is there. At least, not that he can see.

James saved him.

“Oh, god. Oh god, oh _god_.” Steve pants, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He realizes how bad a fall from that height could have been for him. If he’d hit his head, or even landed oddly, he could have broken bones, ended up on bed rest for weeks, and then his job at the VA would suffer, not to mention all of the commissions that were piling up...

After ten minutes of a silent freak out, Steve is able to straighten back up. “T-Thank you,” he stammers. He brushes off his pants, trying to get his bearings. The entire situation seemed surreal, to say the least. “Thank you.” Steve supposed the presence of the cold air may have been a warning--the ghost, James, didn’t like what he was doing. Knew it was dangerous, was trying to stop him.

“You’ve been...saving my ass a lot lately. I. I will try not to freak out, as much. When you remind me that you’re here. I understand that this is your place, too.” Steve nods once, deciding to leave it at that. This could be Steve's new reality. He lived with a ghost who sometimes turned off the stove when he forgot and kept him from falling off of high surfaces. 

“Okay, Ace,” James chimes softly. It’s coming from Steve’s left, now, but further away, as if James were heading out to another room to give Steve some space. There was something oddly addicting in James' voice, a magnet curve to it that made Steve shudder.   
He could do this. Live with his ghost. They didn’t have to be enemies, they didn’t have to be friends. They could just….coexist.

The rest of the cupboards that hadn’t been scrubbed would have to wait. Steve wasn’t eager to get back up on the stool and attempt that again, and for some reason, he didn’t think the ghost--James--would appreciate it, either.

"Right," Steve nods, brushing his hands off on his jeans. "Okay. I need a shower." 

***

“Knock, knock,” Sam calls, instead of actually knocking on the front door of the apartment. He opens it and sticks his head in. “Steve-o! You still alive? We’re here!”

Steve rolls his eyes, though he’s got a small smile on his face as he meets them in the front hall. “Hey, guys. Come on in. Shoes off, please. I spent all day scrubbing these damn floors.” He scolds Clint in particular, catching him and his dirty sneakers as he tries to make it into the apartment.

“I brought Lucky, I hope that’s okay?” Clint bats his eyelashes as Lucky darts in past him, ears perked up as he butt-wiggles happily in front of Steve, waiting for pets and affection.

“‘Course,” Steve grins, bending down to pet the golden retriever at a better angle. He gives Lucky a kiss on the nose, and earns a dog-grin for it, Lucky’s happy eyes twinkling at him. “You’re just the best boy,” Steve tells Lucky cheerily, scratching his ears. Lucky looks a little smug, if dogs can look smug, as he drinks in the praise. "You can come over whenever you want."

Nat shuts the door behind her once everyone is inside, and locks it. Steve doesn’t miss the way she tugs on the door once it's locked, checking the strength of the deadbolt. She narrows her eyes at it, and purses her lips. Steve doesn’t want to know what modifications she’s thinking about, but he bet it has something to do with fire. 

Steve straightens, and with a nervous smile, gestures to inside the apartment. “C’mon, I’ll give you guys the tour.”

Steve leads them down the hallway that brings them to the open concept kitchen and living room area. He managed to get his kitchen appliances unpacked and put away, so they’d have plates when the pizza arrived, and coffee if they wanted, but besides that it was fairly sparse, just a few plants here and there. The cleaning had taken up most of his day, so interior decorating had to take a back seat to that.

“It’s nice, Steve,” Clint says warmly, patting Steve on the back fondly. “Real nice.”

“Spacious,” Nat murmurs appreciatively. Her eyes dart around the space quickly, calculating and analytical as usual, but there is warmth in her voice that lets Steve know she really is impressed. “Lots of natural light, like you were saying.” The sun was just setting, and the apartment seemed to glow orange from the inside out. It was beautiful.

Steve blushes a little at that, proud of himself and of his apartment. He hadn't realized how nervous he'd been to hear their perceptions of his new home, but he was relieved to hear he had their approval. “Thanks, guys. Means a lot.”

“Where did the dog go?” Sam interrupts suddenly. “He was just here. Lucky? Lucky, c’mere, boy. You better not be peein’ all over this damn apartment--”

Steve seconds that notion, but Lucky wasn’t the kind of dog to ever have accidents inside. He also wasn’t the kind of dog to ever stray too far from people--he was especially clingy towards Clint when they were in a brand new space. Him wandering off was...odd. 

“Luck,” Clint whistles for the dog, eyes scanning the room to no avail. Lucky was 65 pounds of fluff, he couldn’t hide easily. “Here, boy.”

Lucky doesn’t come.

Clint frowns. Lucky never ignored someone when he was called--like Steve had said, Lucky was the _best_ boy. He was well mannered, well-behaved. “Lucky? C’mere, Luck. _Come_.” He calls, a little louder.

They all hear a whine in response.

“Coming from the master bedroom,” Nat is already walking towards the sound. Steve, with his poor hearing, wasn’t all that great at determining where sounds did or did not come from, but he trusted Nat’s intuition--she was rarely wrong.

Steve catches up to Nat just as they round the corner to the master bedroom, and they both stop dead in their tracks.

Lucky is standing as still as a statue, ears pressed flat against his head, lips pulled back in a snarl that Steve had rarely ever seen from the normally good-natured pup.  
A low growl emitted from deep within Lucky’s throat.

He was staring at a wall.

At least, it looked like he was staring at the wall. After less than three full days in the house, Steve had the good sense to assume Lucky was growling at something--or someone--_very_ real. Real but...dead. Steve remembers reading somewhere that animals and children were more susceptible to feeling out different kinds of vibes or energies. Especially the paranormal kind.

His mouth goes suddenly dry.

“What the--” Clint peaks around Steve’s shoulder, not a hard task to do when Steve was just shy of 5’6” and Clint was an easy 6 feet. “Luck, cut it out. C'mere."

Lucky shows little interest in stopping his current activity, the growl getting lower, his ears flat against his head and lips pulled back against his teeth. If Steve didn’t know what a sweetheart Lucky was, he would look awfully menacing to him right now.

“Easy, champ,” He hears a raspy voice croon. “Hey, easy. There, there. S’okay, pal, ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

Steve whips around, wondering if perhaps the unfamiliar voice came from Sam doing an impression, but Sam’s lips were closed, and he regarded Lucky with the same bewildered expression as everyone else.

No one had moved, and no one had reacted to the words. And really, Steve knew, the voice wasn’t unfamiliar. He knew that voice, and he knew who owned it.

Steve knew it was the same voice he’d heard before, when he’d nearly fallen off the stool. That raspy, honey-sweet croon that had haunted him. Pun intended. 

As soon as James spoke, Lucky seemed to be put at ease. He shakes and resumes his natural happy posture, tail wagging and tongue lolling out. He trots away without a second glance back, clearly having made his acquaintance and been satisfied with James' greeting.

“Okay, that was weird,” Clint squints into the master bedroom, scratching behind Lucky’s ears. “What the hell did he see?”

Sam gives Steve a knowing look.  
Without breaking eye contact with Steve, Sam mutters, “Mm. Looks like he saw a ghost.”  
***

They order a pizza, and sprawl out between the couch and the plushy mat that Steve dug out from one of the boxes while they eat. Steve didn't have his coffee table together yet, so the pizza box was balanced on top of some other boxes as a makeshift table, but no one was complaining. They put on soft music and drink a lot of wine.

_A lot,_ a lot.

“D’you really think it’s haunted in here, Steve?” Sam asks around a mouthful of pizza. The room was dark; Steve had his fairy lights plugged into an outlet in the far corner, and they sat in a heap on the floor, casting the room in a soft, barely-there glow. Lucky is spread out on the mat beside Clint, having already gotten his slice of pizza, he dozed peacefully, getting intermittent pats from Clint and the others.

Steve sips on his third glass of wine thoughtfully, his mind humming with the thrum of alcohol. Steve didn’t drink often because he was such a lightweight, but with all of the crap going on with the ghost and the apartment, he figured he deserved to let go a little, take his mind off the ghost haunting his house.

“Uhhh. Yup, definitely. S’not so bad, though," he sighs finally, taking a big gulp, and grinning. His f1ace was getting hot. “Hey--pass the breadsticks.”

Clint narrows his eyes at Steve and hugs the breadstick protectively to his chest for a moment longer before finally giving them up with a huff, a defeated look on his face.

Lucky lets out a yawn and settles his head back down on Clint’s lap, though he doesn’t close his eyes. Something about the dog’s posture suddenly seemed to be unable to relax, as if he were on edge. 

“I do get a weird vibe,” Natasha nods, looking around the dimly lit living room. “But I think _haunted_ is a bit of a stretch. Sounds a little cliche for my taste. And we’ve fought aliens, so that should tell you something.”

“You thought aliens were a stretch ‘till you were covered in their...juices.” Clint supplies helpfully. “Ghosts might not be that much of a stretch after all.”

Sam purses his lips thoughtfully, shuddering at the memory. “I _hated_ those damn aliens.”

Steve nods enthusiastically in great agreement. He remembered the aliens and their juices very clearly. He tried googling what kind of cleaners would get intergalactic blood out of the carpet, but even Wikihow didn’t have an answer for that one.

“We don’t get paid enough,” Clint says solemnly, looking off into the distance as if having horrid flashbacks of the alien goop. “We should be _rich_ rich.”

“If ghosts were real, I just feel like we’d have faced them by now. Especially with all of the people we’ve killed. Hydra would have a hell of a lot of angry agents trying to get their revenge if they could.” Nat reasons. Steve admits it’s a good point. He didn’t know a lot about what the Avengers did besides save the world occasionally, but he knew a little bit about the organization called Hydra, which was especially scary because the monsters who ran that place were human.

Wouldn’t the ghosts of those people come back to get their revenge, if they could?

“He’s not a _bad_ ghost, though,” Steve mutters. “He saved my life twice. Last night I left the stove on and went to bed. When I woke up, the stove was off.” Steve pauses for dramatic effect, meeting everyone’s eyes before continuing. “He saved me from a fire.”

“And I heard a voice after my asthma attack. And this afternoon when I was cleaning I almost fell off the stool and I felt him stabilize the stool for me so I didn’t fall!” Steve throws his hands up in the air to exaggerate his point, sloshing a little bit of wine on his fingers. “And Peggy said his name was James. He’s the real deal.”

“Peggy?” Sam frowns. “Who’s that?”

“My neighbour.” Steve waves his hand in Peggy’s general direction. “Across the hall. She’s old. And British. She came over today and told me that she was in the war with my ghost. She said that he’s a super nice guy normally but he’s pissed off about bein’ a ghost, so,” he shrugs helplessly, “There’s that.”

“Peggy sounds like a batty old woman who heard the stories and went with it,” Sam sighs. "You can't just believe everything everyone tells you, Steve."

But Steve had been there, with Peggy, and saw the way the ghost had interacted with her--the cold air, the slamming door. And Peggy didn’t seem batty, she was perfectly sensical. She was just talking about things that Steve was raised to believe were mythical.

But aliens were supposed to be mythical, too. And yet there they were in New York that one time. Same with magic, and time travel, and a whole slew of things that the Avengers faced on a daily basis. Why could one mythical thing be real, but another be impossible?

“Usually when a house is haunted, it’s an angry spirit that is trying to, like,” Clint makes a vague motion with his fingers that Steve supposes is meant to look menacing. “Get the people out of the house, right? Like, that’s how every horror movie, ever, goes. But you said this ‘ghost’ is trying to save your life.” Clint shrugs, biting into yet another slice of pizza. “So that part doesn't add up. Maybe you’re just projecting.”

“Projecting,” Steve tests the words out on his tongue. Then he frowns deeply, not following. “Huh? How so?”

Nat purses her lips thoughtfully. She is probably the soberest out of them all; whenever Nat drank, she never lost control. Steve has never seen her have more than three glasses of any alcoholic substance, ever. And after those three glasses, her demeanour doesn’t change a bit.

“We all know you miss your mom,” Nat begins carefully, talking slowly like she’s trying to figure out how to phrase her sentence without coming across too harshly. “And maybe, telling yourself that there is a protective, friendly…presence...in your apartment is a way for you to cope with these feelings of loneliness and fear.”

Steve was way too drunk for this conversation. “I’m way too drunk for this conversation,” He tells Nat eloquently. “But--the ghost is real. It’s a guy, not my Ma. He’s got a….a raspy voice. S’nice.”

“Raspy?” Sam squints. “Like, how? Do an impression.”

Steve clears his throat and tries to concentrate.

He makes his face go very serious and ghostly, and, in a tone as deep and gruff as he can manage, says “Dammit is right. I’m a fuckin’ ghost and I keep savin’ Steve’s dumb life. _Booooooo._”

That makes all of them, including Steve, burst out laughing hard enough that it hurts. Steve gets wine coming out of his nose a little, which, when pointed out, makes them all collapse into another round of painful-amazing laughter.

If the fairy lights in the corner flicker a few times, if there are quick footsteps behind Steve or a cold breeze by their circle, they’re all laughing too hard to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm @wincestplease on tumblr if you'd like you come yell at me there :)


	3. you can't see the end, you are innocent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a stranger in his apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been SO kind with your comments & kudos--so here is another chapter! Please enjoy!

> _“I snuck into your room last night_   
_I stayed in the dark, it was innocent_   
_Dreams have pushed you around, you said_   
_But I am innocent, you have let them in_   
_You think time left this behind_   
_But it’s in your mind_   
_You need love in your life_   
_Magic turns words into prayers, you said,_   
_To bring us back from the dead,_   
_But it’s not happening,_   
_A spell you tried made you blind, you said_   
_You can’t see the end, you are innocent."_
> 
> -“Dreams have pushed you around,” Devon Welsh

________________________________________________

Steve wakes up not long after falling asleep to a crashing sound coming from the kitchen.

Squinting in the darkness, he tries to concentrate on what the sound might be--it sounded like things falling to the ground with quite some force, crashing hard.  
Steve’s heart skips. He was sure that he’d locked the door after his friends had left--hadn’t he? His mind was fuzzy from lack of sleep and alcohol, so it’s possible that he’d left it open...

Steve shoves his glasses onto his face and glances at his phone, seeing it was 3:06 AM. He swallows with a dry mouth and pushes himself up into a sitting position when he hears the crash again, becoming more alert as the panic crept in and the fog of sleep wears off.

Steve’s heart beats loudly in his ears. His mind is running through a thousand possible scenarios--the ghost was pissed, it was going to _hurt him_\--

“What the fuck?” Steve hears a voice mumble. His heart jumps, and he clutches handfuls of sheets in surprise and panic. That wasn’t the voice of his ghost, it wasn’t the whiskey-warm rasp he’d recalled. 

The voice was unfamiliar. A stranger in his apartment._ A stranger in his apartment._

He needed to see what was going on. He was never one to back away from a fight.

Steve crept down the hallway, trying to stay as light on his feet as he could so as not to alert anyone of his presence.  
When he gets near the corner that would lead him to the kitchen and living room, he freezes, just barely peeking his head out.

Steve has to slap a hand over his mouth to stay silent. His eyes grow wide in his head, and he lets out a small, choked sound that he prays the man doesn’t hear. _This can’t be happening._

The guy looks rough--probably high on seven different kinds of drugs and looking for something to steal to get his next fix, judging by his twitchy movements and wild, bloodshot eyes. He was dirty and scraggly, but large. Steve didn’t have a hope of taking him on unarmed and still slightly intoxicated.

But that wasn’t what shocked Steve so much. It was the_ other_ guy that had Steve’s heart pounding.

He looked like he had stepped straight out of a World War II movie, an actor caught between takes, in full costume. Dark green slacks, a white tank, and heavy brown boots.   
His brown hair was slicked back away from his face, but slightly disheveled, a few rebellious pieces falling onto his forehead and in his eyes. His eyes, which were alight with anger, shone a pale grey-blue in the moonlight filtering in through the windows.

His image flickered once, like it had a spotty connection, and then reappeared in Steve’s kitchen like a dark, avenging angel. Nothing about his features read _friendly. _

And all at once, Steve knew. This was his ghost.

_James._

He presses back further into the wall, unsure of whether to scream or dial 9-1-1. He’s not even sure what he’d tell the operator. _Hi. Please send the ghostbusters and the cops, stat, I’ve got a home intruder and an undead roommate? Thanks._

The Junkie didn’t appear to be able to see the ghost, though. He wasn’t looking at the ghost at all, but rather, staring around the room in astonishment, as objects flew at his head from all sorts of directions, clattering noisily onto the floor. He was searching eagerly through Steve’s cupboards, obviously trying to find something of value.

“What the fuck,” The Junkie ducks some of the objects flying at him, his bloodshot eyes bewildered. “What the _f-fuck_ is going on.”

Steve watches in horror as the ghost flicked his wrist and sent one of Steve’s boxes flying across the room, knocking Junkie on his ass. He presses his hand harder to his mouth to keep from whimpering in fear. His heart is beating so loud it makes his chest ache.

“What the fuck,” Junkie says again, scrambling to get back on his feet, bloodshot eyes darting around wildly. The apartment is lit up by moonlight only, and it only serves to make the scene look that much eerier. “This is a b-_bad_ trip,”

“You shouldn’t have broken in,” James growls dangerously.   
Steve looks sharply back at the ghost, who’s image flickers again. His face is dark, his features burning with hatred.

For the first time, Steve is really afraid of him, of what he could do. Seeing him standing there made the reality that Steve was living with a ghost all the more real. It was a lot easier to ignore cold spots, a lingering voice. But this--this was real. _He _was real.

Steve hadn’t realized the extent of power the ghost had in the house, until this moment, seeing his figure there, taking his fury out on Junkie. He could kill him so easily, just a strong enough blow to the head, something impaling him in the chest...he could kill Steve _so easily._

Steve was afraid.

For the first time, the ghost takes his eyes off of Junkie and looks directly at Steve, his features falling into shock as Steve stares right back, into those icy eyes, and the box drops out of the air as if the distraction of seeing Steve there caused the ghost--James, Peggy had told him-- to lose focus.

“Go back to your room!” James shouts, his voice so loud it makes Steve let out a small, involuntary sound of fear, which triggers the Junkie to spin around, noticing Steve for the first time. “Now, Steve!”

James knew his name, which should not have surprised Steve as much as it did, but hearing James say it sent a flash of ice through his veins.

Junkie doesn’t react to the ghost’s shouting, which makes Steve really question if perhaps he, and not Junkie, was the crazy one. 

"Go, Steve," James growls again. 

Steve had a feeling he better listen; he didn't want to make an enemy tonight, and it looked like most of James' anger was focused on getting Junkie out of the apartment, which is exactly what Steve wanted to happen. 

Steve is about to run back into his bedroom and wait out the nightmare when he notices something shiny glint from inside Junkie’s dirty hand. He squints at it, thankful he’d grabbed his glasses, and gasps when he sees what Junkie has.

His mother’s golden watch.

Steve fills with anger, and the fear dissolves in favour of white-hot, unimaginable rage, so animal he feels for a moment like growling. 

There was no way in hell Steve was letting that watch get stolen while he hides in his room. Not when he had a chance of getting it back. He didn't have much left his mother, and what he did have, he was deeply connected to. 

He settles for pulling his lips back from his teeth, hands curling into fists. His nails dig in hard to the palms of his hands. “You better give that watch back right fucking now.” Steve snarls, his hands curling into fists, taking a few slow steps towards Junkie.   
The watch was one of the few jewelry items he had left from his mother, and it was something she wore every day, a gift from his father.

He’d die before he lets it go.

Junkie shakes his head jerkily. “You know what? I like it. I think I’ll keep it.” He smiles, then, all yellow teeth and venom. “I think I deserve somethin’ for my efforts, considering how….how fucking c-crazy this place is!”

“Steve--” The ghost--James--is stalking towards Steve, but Steve promptly ignores him, and storms right towards Junkie, fire in his veins. He’s not sure what exactly he’s going to do, but he’s acting on instinct. He just knows that he has to get that watch back, no matter what. He wasn't ever one to back down from a bully, and he wasn't starting now.

Steve manages to get the element of surprise, and he’s got anger on his side making him stronger than he’d normally be.  
He uses the rush of adrenaline to charge Junkie hard, throwing all of his weight into it and punching him hard in the jaw with all of his strength.

Pain explodes in Steve’s knuckles, stunning him for a second with the white-hot severity of it, before he is able to grit his teeth and push it to the back of his mind. Fighting was familiar to Steve, he’d been in a million scraps with guys bigger than him. This was no different, except this time, Steve _couldn’t lose. _That watch was everything to him.

Junkie goes down, hard, but just like before, he’s quick to get up, staggering on his feet and looking more pissed than before, the watch still firmly in his grip. He’s got a bag in the corner by the door that looks to be filled with stuff--Steve can’t tell if it was things Junkie brought with him or things that belonged to Steve, but he cares only about the watch.

He had to get it back.  
Junkie’s larger than Steve and whatever drugs he’s on has clearly have made him impartial to pain. He looked less hurt and angrier with each growing second.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ d-die,” Junkie spits, before baring his teeth and lunging at Steve, fist already cocked and ready. “Fuck this apartment--”

Steve isn’t fast enough after the alcohol still thrumming in his system, even with adrenaline and fury on his side. Junkie gets a good hit in, right in Steve’s ribs, knocking the wind out of him with an undignified wheeze.

Steve wraps his arms protectively around the injured area with one arm, and doubles over on his hands and knees, using his other arm to support himself as he coughs and gasps for breath. His vision goes white and then comes back in spots that dance around the edges of his eyesight. The world tilts for a moment, and Steve wonders if he’s about to lose consciousness--but he’s able to blink it away.

“Jesus fucking--” James is letting out a slur of curses but Steve’s ears are ringing and he can’t pay attention. Something along the lines of a death threat, Steve is pretty sure, but he’s not clear on whether it’s aimed at him or Junkie. He really hoped the latter. He felt enough like he was going to die without the help of the supernatural pushing him along. Someone might be calling his name, but he can’t be sure.

His world spins, mind thrumming with pain and fear.

Junkie talks right over the ghost, unable to hear him. “I’m getting the fuck out of here, this place is fucking c-crazy.” Junkie makes a dash for the door once Steve is on the ground, but Steve has enough right mind to grab the guy's grubby ankle and tug hard, making Junkie stagger and loose balance. “Fucking bullshit,”

There was no way Steve was letting that watch go. _No way in hell_. He blinks hard and spits out a mouthful of blood.

“It. Was my. Mothers,” Steve pants, forcing himself to straighten despite the blooming pain in his rib cage--a nasty bruise, but thankfully not a break. Steve had been in enough spats in his lifetime to recognize the difference. “Give it back.”

“Don’t touch me, I’ll fuckin’ kill you, I’ve got a knife.” Junkie threatens Steve, his eyes wild. He looks around the living room, head twitching a few times. “Didn’t go lookin’ for trouble--thought this place was still fucking a-abandoned. Heard ‘bout it.”

“It’s not fucking abandoned anymore, asshole, it’s my _home_!” Steve coughs. He spits out a mouthful of blood. He must have split his lip. Maybe he bit his tongue. Maybe he cracked a rib--it was certainly tender. 

“Steve, don't--” He hears James warn, but Steve ignores him. 

Despite Junkie’s threats of being armed, Steve didn’t see any weapons on Junkie’s hands or on his person, and it was a risk he was willing to take.  
He wasn’t going to give up. The rest of the stuff that Junkie had gathered, whatever was in his pockets, his bag, none of it was as valuable to Steve as the watch.

He should’ve taken better care of it, unpacked it right away and tucked it under his pillow like he usually did. This was his fault. He waited too long, he knew he was in a bad area of town, he knew and he didn’t do anything to stop it. He got too comfortable. He didn’t lock the door, and James didn’t take care of him this time.

Steve notices the ghost again, in the fog of pain and rage, standing near his left, and looking like he was concentrating very hard on something. He had his hand outstretched, palm up, as if he was about to ask Junkie nicely to place to watch into his hand. His brow was furrowed deeply.

“Get out!” Steve cries, ignoring the ghost and whatever weird shit the ghost was up to. “The cops are on their way, they’ll be here any minute,” Steve lies. When he sees that Junkie’s face doesn’t change, Steve gets more desperate.

“If you give me the watch now I won’t give them a description, I won’t tell them anything, just please,” a few tears fall in adrenaline, fear and desperation. “I’ll give you cash, let me get my wallet, you can have _anything else_ in the apartment, just don’t--”

Once again, Junkie makes a dash for the door, but just as he shifts his weight, he freezes in place, as if unable to move, muscles locked as if he’d hit an invisible wall.

It’s almost comical, really. Like a cartoon, his entire body is frozen in a running position, his face frozen in a fit of panic and confusion. If Steve wasn’t so afraid, he’d be laughing.

“I think you’ve got something that doesn’t belong to you,” James chides. His voice is the same honey-rasp that Steve has grown to know as familiar. He’s not cursing anymore, and he sounds pretty calm compared to the white-hot rage of earlier. There is still something dangerous burning below the surface, but it’s a ripple of contained anger, rather than a waterfall. Something vibrates silently in the air, a thrum of power that hadn't been there before. It haunts Steve's breast bone, like the loud thump of a bass at a party, only there was no sound along with it. 

Before Steve can react, James walks up to Junkie and with a thunderous echo of something dark in his light eyes, and makes a flicking motion with his fingers. James looks so real--his image doesn’t flicker this time, and there is nothing transparent about him, not like in the movies. He looked real, really alive and _there_ in the room with them, like Steve could reach out and touch.

The watch rips itself out of Junkie’s hands as if it had a life of its own, and skids across the floor to rest at Steve’s feet.

The ghost turns back to Steve, and visibly works to soften his facial features, to not look so enraged or dangerous, as he looks pointedly at the watch, and then back up at Steve, as if saying, _are you going to pick it up or what?_ He arches one brow in a cocky expression and waits, as though he’s got all day.

Steve does, scooping it up and holding it tightly to his chest, breathing hard. He had no idea how the ghost did that, or what it meant for Steve that James could manipulate people the way he had done to Junkie.  
Steve runs his thumb shakily along the grooves of the watch, relieved to see everything was in tact, the engraving on the back his father had done for his mother still unscathed. _To my angel._

James has a tiny, pleased smile on his face, so minute it was barely noticeable.

Steve turns his attention away from the watch, while still holding it close, and frowns. “How did you--” Steve begins to whisper, but James shakes his head.

“I’m going to get rid of this guy now, okay?” James’s voice is raspy and deep, and it makes Steve feel irrationally safe. The fear of James he’d felt earlier seems silly, now, looking at those pale eyes. “But you’re safe. Just hold on. I got you. You’re safe.”

“But how are you going to--” Steve begins, but then stops short. A wild part of him wondered if the ghost was going to snap Junkie’s neck or do something else equally as violent.  
Steve had the urge to close his eyes, not wanting to witness the horror, but James only snorted.

“Not gonna kill anyone,” The ghost shakes his head, and more pieces of hair fall loose. Everything about him screamed _real, _Steve had to wonder for a moment if he was, in fact, solid. “Or hurt him too badly. Nothing like that. Just going to send him away. Relax.”

James makes a shooing motion with his fingers, and Junkie is suddenly unfrozen, scrambling all at once towards the exit.  
There is a look of sheer panic on his face, like he understood what had happened to him and he wasn’t pleased about it.

Junkie doesn’t even try to find the watch, he just books it towards the door, obviously wanting to escape, a horrified look plastered on his face. Steve is frozen, watching with wide eyes.

The ghost walks calmly behind him, ushering him out the whole way, until Junkie is in the thresh hold, panicking and unable to get out, hands trying for purchase against some kind of invisible field.

“You will never,_ ever,_ come near this apartment again. It’s not abandoned anymore, so you can’t use it to get high like you used to. Spread the word.” James says seriously. “Or else. Next time I won't be so forgiving.”

Junkie doesn’t look at him, or even acknowledge that someone spoke to him, but the apartment shudders a little, like a tiny vibration Steve feels through the floor into the soles of his feet, as if the ghost had physically forbid the apartment from letting in intruders again.

With that, James shoves both hands in the air as if he were physically shoving the man, and the door slams behind him, locking on its own accord with a sense of finality that makes Steve let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

James turns back around, an apologetic look on his handsome face, mouth open, already saying something about “Sorry for letting that happen, I wasn’t paying attention, they used to come here to shoot up, but I wasn’t strong enough then to do anything about it so I just--”

“I..I don’t feel good,” Steve interrupts, blinking away the spots in his vision. A ringing began in his ears. “I think I need to l-lay down.”

James blinks at him, looking a little bewildered. He steps closer to Steve, like he’s going to physically usher him down the hall, but his hands only hang uselessly at his side. “Okay, Ace, easy. Let’s get you to bed.”

Steve nods miserably, his muscles already throbbing with the fight, the adrenaline crash washing over him all at once. He shuffles down the hall, leaning heavily on the wall for support. The spots don't clear, and the ringing gets louder as he gets closer to bed. 

“You locked the door?” Steve mumbles, trying not to pass out as he climbs into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. He tucks the golden watch under his pillow and vows to be more careful. “No one else is gonna get in?”

James stands in the threshold of Steve’s bedroom. “No one else is going to get in,” He promises, the moonlight bouncing off of his blue eyes. “I’m gonna keep you safe, Steve. I won’t be careless like that again.”

Steve doesn’t think too hard about what James was saying, only the lilt of his deep voice, resonating in Steve’s bones as he rolls over and shuts his eyes. His ghost was going to protect him, and he was safe, and that was all that mattered.

“Thanks,” Steve whispers to the air, as exhaustion takes him. “Thank you.”  
***

The next morning, Steve wakes up feeling a lot of things at once.

His body hurts. The alcohol dehydrated him to a point of exhaustion, and his head was pounding, as well as a sharp, stabbing sort of pain in his ribs that he didn’t immediately remember the cause of.  
His right hand was also throbbing, the skin around his knuckles tender and split, his fingers swollen.

Steve almost never, ever drank coffee--it usually made him jittery and on edge, but he felt strongly that a cup of coffee would be the thing to make the hurting stop, and clear the fogginess that clouded his brain. After all, he had a lot to do today and--

As he sits up, the events from the night before come flooding back.

_Junkie, the ghost, his mom’s watch._ A surge of panic fills Steve right to his throat, he pats frantically under his pillow, feeling the cool metal connect with his fingers almost instantly.

Letting out a soft breath of relief that hurt a little in his chest, he gingerly stretches his limbs and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The events of the night before, both the alcohol and the physical stress on his body, left Steve feeling washed out. He needed a shower, or five, and he needed it immediately.

Immediately after coffee.

Steve fumbles for his glasses and slides them on with a yawn. He’d slept in, based on the golden light coming through his window, but no doubt his body had needed it.

James. Where was he now? He remembered James more clearly than he remembered Junkie, or even fighting Junkie for the watch. James, in all of his war-time glory, standing in Steve’s kitchen looking like a movie star, like he had every right to be there but didn’t belong at all, too beautiful for the mundaneness of the apartment.

His image, flickering like a TV with a bad connection. His dog tags, his full lips.

His pale eyes, full of vengeance and anger, but. But not at Steve. Never at Steve.

The ghost had, once again, protected Steve, kept him safe, made sure he was alright. Reassured him.

The other tenants had fled the apartment in fear.  
There were vicious rumours about the terrible ghost that haunted the place, that had driven people out for years--something that made people talk about the empty apartment on the fourth floor.  
Steve had brushed them off of course, but they were there, in the back of his mind. They were enough to make people leave without wrapping up loose ends, as if staying one more night in the apartment would be unbearable.

A spacious apartment, at an excellent price...on the market for years because of a ghost who wouldn’t let the owners of the place be. Because of a ghost who made the people in the apartment fear for their own safety.

The ghost who turns off forgotten stovetops or saves people from falling, and gets them their inhalers, who protects people from intruders and tucks them into bed, is not the ghost that would make people run away screaming.

It just didn’t add up. Steve shouldn’t have been any different than any of the past owners of the place.

Last night’s events seemed surreal. Some stranger had chosen his apartment ...dammit. Steve remembered Nat distinctly telling him to keep the window that lead to his fire escape locked, and he had never gotten around to checking if the window locked securely. Last night he’d been wondering if it was the door, but the fire escape made much more sense.

It explained why James had been surprised, too. James would have almost certainly locked the door if he noticed that Steve hadn’t, but a fire escape could be forgotten. Steve would be sure to not be so careless again, though he was pretty sure Junkie, nor any of his friends, would be stopping by anytime soon.

Nat had also mentioned installing a security system. Steve was eternally grateful that she hadn’t gotten around to it yet; he didn’t know what to make of last night, let alone know what to tell his friends that he didn’t call the cops on his intruder because his dead-ghost roommate took care of it and..._banished_ him? How did that even work?

He decided right then to keep it to himself. Nat didn’t need another reason to worry, and Steve would stick some wood in the windows to keep them closed up tight. He assumed James would have his back on anyone else who tried to come in uninvited, and they’d handle it.

Having Avengers as best friends meant Steve had to be careful about what news he broke to them. He didn’t need FBI level security around his apartment, and he definitely didn’t want a bodyguard. Sam had entertained the idea last year for a disturbing amount of time, and Clint and Natasha got on board much too quickly. If not for Steve’s vehement refusal, he’d be shadowed by two SHIELD agents at all times.

Steve slides his feet into his bumblebee slippers slippers and stands up slowly, gingerly stretching out his limbs and wincing when shooting pain cuts his movement short. His bedroom door was open, as he’d left it last night.

He wondered if James stayed with him, for the rest of the night, while he slept. Where did James go, while Steve dreamed the night away? It was a strangely invigorating thought to entertain, picturing the movie-star handsome man brooding around the apartment all hours of the night.

As the ache in his head turns up a notch, Steve is reminded of the task at hand: “Mmph.” He groans, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “Coffee.” He tells himself. “Coffee is the goal.”  
His existential crisis could wait until he had downed a cup of coffee, surely. Maybe several--he deserved it.

Steve shuffles into the kitchen to make said coffee, not feeling a single bit like the morning person he always claimed he was. He was groggy and grumpy and really, truthfully, would be more than pleased to dive right back into bed.

He reaches for a mug and stops dead. _No way._  
Steve has to squint at his Keurig twice when he realizes it is already turned on and preheating, making a pleasant bubbling sound, his favourite mug already under the spout, waiting for him.

Steve hadn’t done it--and he was pretty sure Junkie hadn’t done it when he was in for his visit last night. It didn’t have an auto feature, either.

James.

Steve rubbed the bridge of his nose once more and closed his eyes. It had been a long night, to say the least.

Now, every time he closed his eyes he was confronted with the vision of the ghost, as clearly as if he were a real person, save for the occasional flickers of his person here and there, a reminder of his impermanence. But the light played off of his features like it would any other human standing in the living room, and his voice wasn’t some croaky demonic-growl that was always depicted in movies and TV.  
James’ voice was thick like honey, a delicious, deep hum that made Steve want to listen to him say more, speak more. It really wasn’t right for someone to have a voice like that. It should be illegal.

And now he was putting on coffee for Steve in the morning?   
His ghost makes him coffee, now. He had his own little undead-dead built-in barista. 

Steve leans back against the counter in disbelief, shaking his head minutely. Frickin’ coffee making ghosts.

_What even was his life._

Looking into the living room, Steve noticed James had also cleaned up after the chaos of the rude awakening. Things had been strewn about everywhere, since the ghost had been throwing whatever he could at Junkie. Now things were packed neatly back into the boxes, almost like nothing had happened.

If Steve’s body wasn’t so sore, he would have thought last night to be a dream.

Steve blinks sleepily at the Keurig continues to preheat, still rolling around in the idea that James made him coffee. James made him coffee. It was such a domestic thing to do for someone. 

“You did this?” He asks the air, waving his hands in the general direction of the coffee pot. “What, so now you’re Casper the friendly ghost?” He asks incredulously.

Saving him from falling and putting on his morning java seemed like two very different things.

“You know, a lot of people have a lot of bad things to say about you. You’re supposed to be the reason that no one wanted to buy this damn house!” Steve winces at the movement of his arms, as it causes the bruise on his ribs to ache. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. The lack of sleep and exhaustion he felt were making it hard to regulate his emotions.

There is no reply. Steve’s frustration grows. He knew he wasn’t crazy--he’d seen James last night. Talked to him, even. The fact that the ghost was ignoring him now just wasn’t fair.

“And, y’know, I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop. When are you going to go all vengeful spirit on me? Clearly you’ve got a lot of power, considering what you did to that Junkie last night, so. You gonna let me have it or what?” He exclaims, waiting. “You must’ve done somethin’ to the other people who lived here. No reason why you wouldn’t do it to me!”

Still, nothing.

“Do you always make your roommates coffee before you haunt them?” Steve grumbles, folding his arms tightly over his chest. “Or do you just really like me?”

The uneasy feeling in his stomach persisted as a cold spot brushed up against him and then away as if the ghost was alerting Steve of his presence and confirming his good intentions. Or his annoyance. Steve couldn't be sure.  
He waited for it to materialize like it had last night, but it doesn’t.

There is just Steve, the bubbling Keurig, and the cold spot moving around the room, raising the hair on Steve’s arms and causing him to shiver.

“Helpful,” Steve snorts, shaking his head, staring at the ceiling blankly and trying to find his patience. “Real helpful. If you were so damn _helpful_ this apartment would’ve been occupied a long time before I came around, pal,” He scoffs. “The nice-guy act is real sweet and all, but I don’t know if I can buy it. Somethin’ ain’t adding up.”

The words feel a little mean when they leave his mouth. James had helped Steve, a lot. If not for James, Junkie might have made off with his mom’s watch, and would have done a lot worse to Steve.

Just as he’s about to say something that would make him feel like less of a jerk, the screen of the Keurig flickers and powers off and the coffee stops mid-brew. It fills the kitchen with an eerie silence.

Steve blinks at it twice, wondering if he was still tipsy from the events of the night prior. When he rubs his eyes and looks again, he finds the screen is still blank.

“Guy makes you coffee, you could at least say thank you,” a deep voice scoffed. “Figure you’d need it after the night you had.”

The voice was so familiar now, it resonated deep in Steve’s chest. This was the most James had said to him, and a strange thrill runs up Steve’s spine at the idea of having a casual conversation with his ghost.

“You gonna show yourself, or what?” Steve mutters, staring at the ground. “Hard to have a conversation with an invisible man. For all I know, I could be starin’ at your junk.”

“Tough guy, are ya?” the voice says again, but from a completely different side of the room than it was before, making Steve turn his head and squint, trying to locate where the sound was coming from.

It was impossible to say, since James was choosing not to show himself.

“Just want to meet my roommate,” Steve says sweetly, deliberately turning his back on wherever the ghost might be to turn the Keurig back on, letting it preheat once again. He wasn’t going to play this game with James--he could practically hear the smile in the ghost’s voice, and Steve didn’t like to be toyed with. “I think it’s a fair request.”

When he turns around again to face the open kitchen, he jumps just a little to see the figure standing there, the same one he’d seen last night, those unnerving pale eyes focused on him.

It’s reassuring, in a way, to see him standing there in the full daylight of the morning. Steve’s not crazy, after all.  
Steve had been half convinced the apparition he’d seen last night had been part of his drunken stupor.  
But no--here the ghost was, looking as devastatingly handsome as Steve remembered from last night, perhaps even more so in the tentative morning light.

Steve’s lips part, drinking James in for longer than he had any right to. When he realized he was staring, Steve blinks fast and looks away, the tips of ears turning pink.

“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th, at your service,” James introduces with a mock bow and a smug little smile that does strange things to Steve’s chest.

He looked real, like Steve could reach out and touch and he’d be solid under his fingers. _This_ was the cold air that had been lingering, the mysterious presence that had brushed up close against him, that had slammed doors and made Lucky nervous. This man, with kind eyes and curling hair. “Most people called me Bucky, back when people could call me something. It’s about time that we be properly introduced. You are livin’ in my apartment, after all.”

Peggy had called him James. She was right. James Buchanan Barnes.  
Peggy wasn’t crazy, either.

Everything had been true.

“Right.” Steve’s voice sounds squeaky and a little breathless. His ghost had a name. “James. Ah--Bucky? Okay, hi, Bucky. I’m Steve.”

“I know,” James--Bucky--snorts. “Been watching you.”

Steve feels a little pang at that, even though it was something he knew. It was different thinking about little cold spots here and there throughout his day versus this gorgeous man following him around, watching him fumble through his day and make weird faces in the mirror and burn his toast and sing to himself.

Steve feels vaguely mortified at the thought that Bucky had probably seen him shower, jerk off, and dance in the living room. Every little embarrassing thing he did within the comfort of his own apartment, thinking he was all alone.

_Awesome._

“Right,” Steve says weakly, feeling a little faint. He slides against the cupboards and sits down on the floor. “Bucky is a funny name."

Bucky arches a brow, looking playfully offended by Steve's remark. "It's a nickname," he defends.

"Right, yeah. Ghosts can have nicknames. Bucky. So--you’re the ghost that’s living in my apartment. Right. Hey, _you._ Buddy. Pal.” Steve's heart was somewhere in his throat.

“Technically, you’re the person living in my house, sweetheart. Hate to break it to you, but I was here first.” Bucky walks a few steps closer, and looks like he might take a seat next to Steve on the ground, but then thinks better of it, and settles for crouching down a few feet away, letting Steve have his space. His brow is a little furrowed like he’s worried about Steve or something.

Steve was thankful for Bucky giving him some space, though. He didn’t know how much crazy he could handle in a day, and given the fact that a ghost was in his kitchen, having a casual conversation with him…yeah. He’d just about reached his limit, thanks very much. It wasn’t even 10 o’clock.

“Finders keepers,” Steve wheezes a little, and _yep_, he was on the verge of a panic attack. His palms were coated in sweat, his heart was pounding so loud in his ears it made it almost impossible to hear much else, and he felt dizzy and weak. He knew exactly what was coming and he really, _really_ wished it wouldn’t. The timing was just...impeccable, really. “Shit,”

He felt the familiar _youaren’tsaferunrunrunrunyoucan’tbreathe_ mantra repeat in the back of his head against his will, and he felt his chest tighten and his body lock up, despite the logic that he _knew_ he was safe.  
He knew Bucky wouldn’t hurt him, that the room wasn’t on fire, that everything was going to be okay, but his body didn’t want to get the memo.

_Fucking christ_, he really had the worst timing in the world. All he wanted to do was ask questions, gather as much information as he could, but the panic was clouding his brain and his judgement.

Bucky’s eyes sparkled a little at Steve’s comment, but his eyebrows pulled into panic when he apparently noticed the irregular rhythm of Steve’s breathing. He takes a step towards Steve, which only makes Steve flinch harder.

Bucky curses a little under his breath and steps back again. He runs a hand through his hair in obvious frustration. “Ah, hell, kid--are you having one of your asthma attacks again? Where the hell did you put that damn puffer--”Bucky straightens, looking around the kitchen, opening drawers with flickers of his fingers, never touching anything.

Drawers fly open and then slam shut again with frustration as Bucky gets more agitated at being unable to find Steve’s inhaler, stomping around the kitchen with an edge of panic.

“Not.” Steve shakes his head. His breathing is irregular, but it wasn’t asthma this time. “Not asthma. It's.” He swallows, trying to force himself to calm down. “Anxiety. Panic. Attack.” He waves his arms around in a vague motion. “I can’t….uh. I can’t. B-Breathe. But I can, but I..I c-can’t.”

“Okay.” Bucky’s frown deepens. He looked like he didn’t really understand, and the worry doesn’t leave his face. “Okay, just.” He makes a little motion with his fingers and finally finds the inhaler, sliding it across the floor to Steve with another flick of his hand, the same way he'd produced the golden watch last night. “Here you go, champ. Try this anyway, for me. Easy, there.”

Steve didn’t want to argue, he pressed the thing to his lips and inhaled the medicine anyway, figuring it couldn’t hurt. His lungs felt like they were wound up so tight they’d burst at any second and he desperately needed oxygen that wasn’t huffed in through short, panicked breaths.

Although it wasn’t an asthma attack he was having, the medication did help Steve feel like his lungs were not trying to kill him, and being able to breathe did a lot for helping Steve to calm down. After a few minutes, Steve was able to get his breathing under control, and his heart rate down a few paces.

“That’s it,” Bucky croons, worry not leaving his face. “You’re okay, Ace. Just calm down, yeah? You’re safe, Steve. I ain’t gonna hurt you. M’sorry if I scared you.”

Steve tucks his legs up into his chest, ignoring the pain it caused his rib in favour of making himself very small. The ghost--Bucky--was powerful, Steve remembered the look of fury on his face, when he’d dealt with the man trying to steal from Steve. He never wanted to be on the other end of that anger.

“You hurt that man. Last n-night. You’re strong.”

Bucky’s face darkens. It’s not a look Steve likes on Bucky’s face, he decides. “He was trying to hurt you. He did hurt you.” A curl of brown hair has come loose out of his slicked-back style, falling forward into his face as he leans down to talk to Steve. “I’m sorry. I was distracted, I didn’t check all the windows, or the fire escape--I tried to stop him.”

“I didn’t realize you could...do that.” Steve’s voice is barely above a whisper. He can barely hear his own voice. “Move things. Move people.”

Bucky shakes his head slowly, eyes drifting, becoming distant. “Before you moved in,” he stares hard at the ground as if looking directly at Steve for this conversation would be too painful. He takes a few minutes before finishing the rest of the sentence, but Steve doesn’t rush him. “I didn’t have this kind of power. I could only flicker the lights, here and there. Maybe slam a door, push something off of the counter. And no one has ever been able to hear me before, let alone see me. Not even Pegs, not for years, anyway.”

Bucky looks up then, his blue eyes seem alive, and real, and so heartbreakingly sad that it makes something protective stir inside Steve, despite all of the fear and confusion. “I’m different, now. Stronger. You can see and hear me, and I can do things I couldn't do before.”

Steve couldn’t imagine it, really. A hundred years of being stuck in the same place, never changing, never moving on, unable to talk to another person or touch them...

He’d go crazy. He understood now, what Peggy meant when she said it was understandable that James was irritable.

“So something is happening to you...because of me?” Steve says slowly, trying to wrap his head around the situation. He’s processing things too slowly, still stuck in the shock of having a conversation with a ghost.

“Either that, or it's a very strange coincidence,” Bucky mutters, his broad shoulders lifting and then dropping again in a lazy shrug. “Dunno how or why.”

Steve lets that hang in the air for a moment, testing it out. Something about Steve being in the house had made Bucky stronger, more real. It made Steve--but no one else--able to see him. It was the stuff of movies.

It would need some research (and some wine) before Steve could try to put a label on it. For now, it was just strange. He would let it be--it didn't seem necessarily like a bad thing. Surely it would be better for Bucky for someone to be able to see and hear him after all these years, rather than living out all of his days in complete loneliness. 

“Okay,” Steve says carefully, getting to his feet very slowly. He groans a little when he stands, the bruise on his ribs aching. His body is sore in general, the stress of the panic attack and the night was taking a toll on him. He felt exhausted.

“I’m so sorry he hurt you, I tried to--” Bucky reaches a hand out to help Steve up, and Steve instinctively takes it for support.

Only it passes right through Bucky, as though he were made of thin air.

Steve staggers a little, catching his own weight, and Bucky blinks twice at his own hand as if remembering that he was a ghost, not a real, solid person. Bucky’s face flashes with devastation so raw it makes Steve’s chest twinge in sympathy.

It was like Bucky had forgotten that he wasn’t alive, and had remembered all at once how stuck he really was, right before Steve’s eyes, every emotion so vulnerable and expressive on his face.

Steve had forgotten, too. Bucky looked so real. Solid, physically there with Steve.  
He had moved things around the kitchen. He had saved Steve from falling--he’d saved Steve from Junkie.

But he was just a whisper of a person.  
A ghost.

“Shit, sorry.” Bucky mumbles, retracting his hand after a moment to scrub at his own hair. The motion makes his hair stick up in all sorts of ways and Steve’s fingers twitch, wanting to reach out to smooth it down. “Not used to feeling this...alive.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers, because he is, and because he’s not sure what else you can say to a ghost who hates being a ghost. “It must not get easier.”

“Not any of it,” Bucky agrees, staring at the floor. “I don’t think it ever will, not even in a hundred years.”

It hits him, then. Steve will live and die, surrounded by people he loves and who love him, and then he’ll either go somewhere else after death or he’ll cease to exist entirely.

Bucky though...this was his forever. Eternity, in this apartment, always truly alone, never belonging to anyone.

Steve straightens, and eyes Bucky with a soft appraisal. He’s tall, much taller than Steve, but lean in a way that makes him seem graceful, even in stillness. Thin muscle, rather than bulk. Steve has to tilt his head up a little to meet Bucky’s gaze.

“That sounds terribly lonely,” he says softly. There is nothing else he can say to heal the wound. “H-How long?” Steve knew Bucky was a soldier, and Peggy had mentioned the war, but the details weren’t enough explanation. Steve wanted to hear it from Bucky himself.

“How long have I been dead?” Bucky grins, but it’s more feral that warm. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his dark green pants and shrugs his shoulders. “I, uh, don’t...remember the exact year. Sometime during the war. The second one. And it was winter.”

Steve blinks. “You don't ...remember?” Peggy had said something about falling, but Steve remembered how poorly Bucky had reacted to that when she’d brought it up; he’d slammed the door.  
Steve would let Bucky tell his own story.

Bucky shakes his head slowly, lips pursed. He looks at Steve like he somehow knows exactly what Steve is thinking. “I was there when Pegs told you ‘bout me...falling, but I don’t remember falling. I remember being on the train, and then I just...I just remember being cold.” He purses his lips thoughtfully, and his shoulders rise and fall again. His lips twitch a little. “Sometimes it’s like I can still feel it, the cold. It’s bone-deep. Like, nothing could ever warm me up again.”

The cold spots that Steve always felt when Bucky was near--did it have something to do with that? Or were ghosts always just cold...like the dead?

Steve wants to reach out, squeeze Bucky’s shoulder, hold his hand, something. He may not be thrilled with the idea that he’s got a roommate he didn’t sign up for, but there was something so old and sad about the man who looked no older than 26 standing in his kitchen it made Steve want to be his friend. Put a smile on his face, somehow.

After all, all Bucky had done so far was protect Steve.

“But you came here, instead of, uh. Haunting the place you died.” Steve says gently, trying to put the pieces together. He had so many questions, and frankly, he liked hearing Bucky talk. “I thought ghosts were supposed to be stuck to where they die. At least...it’s always like that in the movies.”

Bucky hums thoughtfully, nodding at the walls of the apartment. “This used to be my place before I shipped out. She was a lot more spiffy, then.” He explains, gesturing to the house. “Had a little bakery on the main level so it always smelled like fresh baked cookies. Mrs. Mallson would even save my sister and I a few here and there; she was a real sweet lady…” Bucky trailed off, lost in the kind of yesterday that had no place in Steve’s living room.

Or perhaps it had every place there.

Steve could almost see it, if he closed his eyes.

_A soft jazz song crooning on a static radio station, a woman with perfect curls and red lipstick twirling around the kitchen like magic, her full dress kissing her knees as she spins...and Bucky, sunlight streaming in through the windows, highlighting the faint bit of auburn in his hair, dancing with her despite the exhaustion in his bones because he knows she loves it, and he’s a gentleman. _ _He’d come home from the docks, grease striped down his cheekbone and hands calloused from a long days work...but he’d dance with her. Bucky would never miss a step, Steve bets. He just had that face, like he knew how to dance. They’d kiss slowly, in no rush to rejoin the world around them, and the sun would set and they would fall into bed and laugh until the stars kissed their eyelids goodnight._

It was all like a beautiful dream.

“I just...woke up here.” Bucky continues, snapping Steve out of it. “I didn’t remember anything, at first. I thought I was alive. It wasn’t until later that my memories came back and I realized I wasn’t….here. That I was...dead. I can’t leave the house, not through the door, or windows, or anything. I don’t know why, but I’m stuck. It’s like the perimeters of the house bind me.” He lets out a long breath, and Steve feels the cold air wash over him.

Trapped. Both in the house and in the in-between state, not alive, not fully dead.

“Then people started moving in,” Bucky’s face gets darker. “Trying to change the place, turn it into a crack house or a brothel or a bachelors pad. People who didn’t respect the space. They didn’t love it.” He shakes his head, and meet Steve’s eyes. His face begins to soften as he looks at Steve. “So I’d flick the lights. Change the TV channel. Move things around. I just wanted to be left alone--and when I did that stuff, it worked. They left.”

Steve was a little relieved to hear Bucky didn’t hurt anyone.

Bucky’s eyes slide over to him, an intense look on his handsome face. “And then you came along.”

“You didn’t try to kick me out. Or scare me away.”

“You’re different,” Bucky murmurs, taking a curious step towards Steve. “From day one, you loved this apartment. You rooted for it, not like the others. Everyone else, they were,” Bucky shakes his head darkly. “They didn’t care. They were loud and they drilled holes and knocked down walls and let the place get full of cobwebs. But not you.” Bucky turns the full force of his pale eyes on Steve, who swallows at the attention. “You’re so genuine, Steve. It was easy to trust you.”

“M’just a person,” Steve whispers eyes wide. He suddenly felt awkward under the intensity of Bucky’s stare, his heart thrumming in his ears like a hummingbird. “Nothing special.” He looks away, face getting hot.

Bucky opens his mouth to say something, but Steve cuts him off, turning away and breaking the building tension between them, facing the Keurig once more. His brew was complete, the comforting smell of coffee filling up the kitchen. He adds milk and sugar to his coffee, and Bucky stays silent. Steve’s ribs ache, but he tries not to dwell.

“It’s nice to be heard.” Bucky says, and his voice is so soft, so quiet, that Steve almost didn’t catch it under the sound of his spoon hitting the porcelain mug as he stirred his coffee. He freezes, feeling the weight of that statement settle in, get comfortable in the space of the room.

“That must’ve been terrible,” Steve whispers, truly meaning it. He turns around to find Bucky looking completely vulnerable, his face open and sad like a child’s. “It must be...so lonely. To be stuck. Don’t you want peace? Can’t you...move on?”

Bucky takes his time answering that one. There is a long silence between them, but it feels full, somehow, of something. Steve isn’t sure what, but something buzzed in the air.

He stares at the floor and kicks his foot a little, heavy boot scuffing across the floor as if Bucky really were there. “I don’t know what there is, after this. There’s gotta be something, otherwise I’m sure the whole damn world would be so full of pissed off spirits there would be some kind of--of an epidemic,” he lets out a short laugh. “I just don’t feel _finished_, however cliche that may sound.”

Steve watches Bucky looks out the window, at the traffic and life, out there without him.

People would be born and grow up, and fall in love and die in their sleep, and Bucky would haunt the walls of Steve’s apartment for as long as it remained.

Most selfishly of all, Steve didn’t really _want_ Bucky to leave--the realization of that want hits him hard. He was intrigued by Bucky, by this conversation and the possibility of many more, intrigued by the safe feeling being around Bucky was giving him. He should have been afraid, he supposes, if he were a rational person. He should feel wary of Bucky's presence. But he couldn't bring himself to feel anything but curious, and grateful to have met him. 

“I don’t know, maybe it’s stupid. I’m just a fuckin’ old dead guy stuck in a goddamn apartment, but,” Bucky swallows, looking almost nervous to tell Steve more. “I just...Idon’t think I’m supposed to move on yet. And even if I _was_, I’d have no fuckin’ idea how to go about that, so,” He shrugs, letting his shoulders fall in a defeated, limp sort of fashion. “Here I am, ‘till the end of time, I guess.”

“You’ve got me.” Steve breathes, not sure how much comfort the words really brought. “I mean, I bought this apartment, so. Here I am, too, y’know? We can be friends.”

Steve earns a crooked smile that makes his stomach do strange little flips. “You mean that, Ace? You gonna befriend the ghost?”

“As long as you don’t do to me what you did to that guy last night,” Steve admits sheepishly, "Then yeah. Don't see why not, seeing as how we're both stuck with each other for the foreseeable future." 

Bucky frowns and looks seriously at Steve. “Steve,” He says softly, face switching again to that burning intensity that made Steve feel like he was under a big, hot spotlight. Steve never felt as seen as he did when Bucky looked at him with those fierce eyes. “You’re the first person who’s seen me in decades. I will never, ever, hurt you. You _can_ trust me.”

There is a white-hot promise burning behind those blue eyes, so Steve nods twice, satisfied for now. Bucky had done nothing but protect and look out for him, so he was starting to trust Bucky despite himself.

“Okay, then. Friends it is. Especially if you keep up with this coffee thing. A guy could get used to being treated like this.” Steve smiles and takes a sip of his drink to accentuate his point. 

“Friends.” Bucky agrees, looking very pleased with himself. The haunting sadness of before has mostly faded from his features, to Steve’s delight. “I’d say let’s shake on it, but,” He grins again.  
Steve snorts and gives Bucky a playful eye roll. Then he gets an idea, and a wicked grin pulls at the corners of his lips.

Sam’s words echoed in the back of Steve’s head: _“What have you gotten yourself into, Rogers?”_  
Steve watches Bucky wink at him, and then move to sit down cheerily on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

Steve sips his coffee and closes his eyes, smiling incredulously into his mug. A whole hell of a lot, it would appear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts!!!! They mean SO MUCH to me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> Feel free to come yell with me on tumblr @wincestplease


	4. I'll be seeing you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve wondered what kind of dreams would dance under Bucky’s eyelids if he could sleep; what kind of nightmares would creep in when the lights went out. He wondered if he would paint any of the colors of his dreamland, if Steve would show up there with a warm smile and inviting arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene is the one that inspired this whole fic! I hope you enjoy... :)
> 
> See the end of chapter notes for translations!

_"I'll find you in the morning sun,_

_and when the night is new,_

_I'll be looking at the moon, _

_But I'll be seeing you." _

_\- _Billie Holliday, _I'll Be Seeing You _

* * *

“Do we have screws somewhere?” Bucky squints at the instructions.

“I just passed them to you like, twenty minutes ago.”

“I’m dead. I have no concept of time.”

“Or any idea how to put IKEA furniture together either, apparently,” Steve scoffs and stretches, his bones cracking unceremoniously as he does. He looks at the clock with dismay. “Ugh. We’ve been here _all day_.”

“Back in my day, furniture came put together already, and that shit was_ sturdy_. There was none of this ‘minimalist’ nonsense, or any…” Bucky makes a vague gesture with his hands, seemingly at a loss for words. He purses his lips, and then, looking quite pleased with himself, concludes: “Scandinavian _fuckery_.”

Steve giggles a little at that, the laugh bubbling out of him without him even realizing it. He looks over to Bucky with pink cheeks and Bucky winks at him, turning Steve’s face from pink to bright red. 

The coffee table was almost together, and it was the last of the big furniture items Steve had brought with him to the apartment. The couch, dining room table, his drawing desk, his side table and his bed had already been set up from when he’d first gotten possession, and the coffee table was the last remaining thing, but definitely necessary to A) pull the room together and B) for Steve to eat his cereal at 4am sitting on the floor like a goddamn animal, thank you very much.

Bucky was helping him. After Steve had enjoyed his coffee and showered (with a stern reminder to Bucky that he wanted privacy), Steve had gotten to work setting up more things around the apartment, paying little attention to the fact that he was hanging out with a ghost from the Great War. Once he got over the initial shock, Steve found that Bucky was actually very down to earth, and incredibly easy to talk to. 

They worked together happily. Steve had some soft jazz on in the background, and in the late-afternoon, the light coming in the windows was soft and warm. Steves's plants were certainly enjoying all the natural sunlight the apartment got, as was Steve. 

Bucky had sat and watched Steve, at first, as he struggled with the instructions that were in a language Steve didn’t understand or recognize.

However, after one glance at the instructions, Bucky began translating smoothly. It was Russian, apparently, and Bucky was fluent with an impeccable accent. Bucky couldn’t remember how he _knew_ Russian, exactly, but as he translated for Steve, he murmured about thinking he may also be fluent in many other languages.

Steve doesn’t poke the bear on that one. He assumed the languages were something Bucky picked up during the war, being surrounded by many different people from all walks of life.

Bucky’s memories were spotty, Steve was learning, but he was beginning to get a sense of who Bucky was--and so far, he was a good man, with a dimple in his chin and a face that was as expressive as a child’s. 

And so, Bucky translated, and Steve put it into action. They were a surprisingly good team. While they worked, they talked. Steve found out more and more about his mysterious roommate.

They talked about things for hours, and Steve didn’t even get that in-his-head about the fact he was conversing casually with a literal dead guy. Bucky remembered that he liked pancakes, and spaghetti, and donuts with sprinkles when he could afford them. He remembered that he drank coffee like he was made of it, no matter how terrible the brew, and was the best dancer in his battalion--Steve’s intuition had been right on that one.

Steve learned that Bucky liked blue better than green, candy over chocolate, and whiskey was his poison of choice. Bucky had also told Steve that when he’d gotten drunk the other night, it was, quote, ‘_adorable and hilarious’._

Steve wasn’t sure what to make of that, but he was starting to get real suspicious about the heart palpitations that he seemed to be experiencing around Bucky as the day dragged on, especially when he laughed, or smiled, or winked, or...well. Anything, really.

When Bucky reads out the instructions of the coffee table for the third time, translating from Russian to English, Steve throws his hands up in the air. “We don’t have that screw.” He disputes, losing his calm for a moment. “Are you _sure_ that’s what it says? Word for word?”

“I know how to read Russian,” Bucky says indignantly, looking a bit annoyed. “Of course I’m sure. We’ve gotta have it somewhere,”

“Okay, well do you want to use you ghostly powers to find it?”

“I’m a ghost, Steve, not a fuckin’ metal detector.”

Steve scowls at him.

Their argument escalates slightly as Bucky starts rhyming of a slew of what Steve can only assume are curse words in Russian under his breath as Steve gets down on his hands and knees trying to find the screw they’ve lost somewhere. 

Bucky squints at the floor like it’s just going to mysteriously appear, his eyes scanning the hardwood suspiciously, like he didn’t trust Steve’s poor vision and suspected the screw was somewhere obvious.

“винт это чертовски--” Bucky curses under his breath. Steve interrupts him with a cheery, “Found it!” which makes Bucky let out a long breath. He doesn’t look angry, though, just kind of resigned to his fate. He watches Steve with an annoyed sort of fondness. 

“Let’s get this Scandinavian fuckery up and running,” Steve grins wickedly, the tension immediately fading.

“Lets,” Bucky chimes, a little less enthusiastically, though there is a twinkle in his eyes.

Steve could see that the apartment was coming together. It was...eclectic, but cozy. Steve had unpacked some picture frames and put them up here and there. Some of him and Nat, of Sam and Clint. His mom.

It made it feel more like his home.

“There!” Steve cries victoriously as he screws in the last leg of the coffee table. He flips it right side up and drags it to the centre of the room, in front of the couch, with a sense of finality. “There we go. _Done_.”

He admires it for a moment before grabbing one of his cactus plants and positioning it in the middle of the table, along with a couple books that he’d been slowly shelving onto his bookshelf in the corner of the room. He stepped back and appraised his work, his hands on his jutting hip bones. 

“Looks good,” Bucky hums, flicking his fingers and closing the manual without even touching it. He settles back into the couch, a peculiar thing considering the cushions don't sag with his weight. “Really, Steve. S’coming together.”

Steve blushes a little. “It is, isn’t it?” He smiles a little, looking around. “Thanks for your help, Bucky.”

“It’s nice to see some life back in this place again,” Bucky murmurs, voice soft. Steve gives him a warm smile and turns to appraise the apartment.

It wasn’t a perfect but it was a far cry from when he’d first arrived. The rooms didn’t feel so big and empty anymore, and the ominous presence that Steve had been feeling the first few nights was now sitting cross-legged in front of him, humming the tune of a song Steve didn’t recognize but liked all the same. All in all, things were looking up.

Bucky didn’t seem scary at all anymore, sitting there with the glow of Steve’s fairy lights illuminating his dopey smile. In fact, the very idea that anyone could be scared of him seemed a bit absurd to Steve. 

Steve stretched his arms above his head, yawning dramatically and checking his watch. “Takeout should be here any minute,” He mused, his stomach grumbling. He hadn’t had anything to eat all day, too busy with setting up the house. Suddenly feeling rude, he looked to Bucky, biting his lower lip. “Um. Do you…?”

“I don’t eat.” Bucky replies gently, as if he was afraid that admitting this would cause Steve to freak out and run. “Or sleep.”

Steve figured, but it’s still a little surprising to hear. “Ah. I see...so what do you do all night?”

Bucky snorts. “Nothing. Look out the window. Contemplate my existence. Listen to you snore your face off.”

Steve gapes, his blush returning. He folds his arms over his chest. “I do _not_ snore!”

“Like a goddamn machine gun in the heat of the war.”

“Do not.”

“Do so.”

“Do not!” Steve pouts.

Bucky seemed to get more thrilled the darker shade of red Steve’s face got. His smile turns wicked. “You do, kid. I’d know.”

“Quit callin’ me kid. I’m 26.” Steve folds his arms over his chest, which makes him feel even more like a child, but he doesn’t care. He’s frickin’ 26 years old.

Bucky arches his brows. “Kid, I’m 102.”

Steve decides to let Bucky have that one.  
***  
He eats at the small dining room table, only big enough for two, and Bucky sits across from him, watching with interest as Steve kicks his feet happily and eats.

“It’s sushi,” Steve explains, noticing Bucky’s clearly horrified look. “Raw fish, rice, veggies. S’good.” He wiggles his chopsticks at Bucky. “You ever tried it?”

“Not really on the menu in my house,” Bucky said, eyeing Steve’s food like it was a poisonous animal ready to lunge. “I like my fish cooked.”

“You were a picky eater, then?” Steve muses, popping another roll into his mouth and chewing happily. He’s curious about Bucky’s life, the past. Bucky, in general.

Bucky shrugs his broad shoulders. “I don’t remember not liking much. There wasn’t really the option to be a picky eater. Times were tough, if we got to eat two meals a day we were pretty happy, even if it was just some broth and some bread. Things got bad during the Depression.”

Steve hums in sympathetic response, thankful he and his mother did not starve even in the most destitute of times. Things could have gotten a lot worse, but she always managed to get an extra shift at the hospital or work something out so that they kept their head just above water.

Bucky stretches his arms out and it makes his muscles flex in the dim light of Steve’s fairy lights. The white tank top he wore did nothing to hide his ripcord muscle physic, like steel stretched under skin. Steve wasn’t sure if it was the sushi making his mouth water, or Bucky.  
He’s also not sure what it would mean for his sexuality if he was attracted to the undead. He really, _really_ tried not to consider the term _necrophiliac._

“You can’t read my mind, can you?” Steve blurts suddenly, holding a roll halfway to his mouth, frozen with the realization that, shit, maybe Bucky could read his mind, and if so..._yikes._

"Yeah. You should _really _stop picturing me naked. It's makin' me uncomfortable," Bucky hedges smoothly, tilting his chin up to look at Steve through his bottom lashes. 

Steve blanches, turning red all the way down to his chest. "I--" He stutters, his mind going blank. He was actively trying _not _to let Bucky's words paint a mental picture in his head. "I do _not--"_

Bucky laughs, then, tossing his head back in pure, boyish enjoyment. “Easy there, Ace. I'm just pulling your strings. But..you do look a little guilty." 

"Do not," Steve hisses, wrinkling his nose at his ghost. "Shuddup."

Steve's sourness doesn't make Bucky so much as hesitate. He keeps that crooked grin, winking dangerously at Steve. "if I suddenly develop that talent, I’ll be sure to let you know, so you can try to keep all your dirty thoughts under control, yeah?”

Steve’s mouth falls open even further. "You", Steve huffs, jabbing his chopsticks at Bucky in a pointing sort of motion, "Are insufferable." Steve shoves another roll into his mouth. He chews it broodingly. 

“Just kidding, Stevie. Relax.” Bucky snorts. The nickname falls easily off his lips, and Steve find that he likes it. “I can’t read minds, punk. I can't do anything extraordinary." 

"Except be dead and not dead at the same time," Steve points out. "And walk through walls and throw people out of the apartment--" he arches a brow, daring Bucky to make him continue. 

"Right," Bucky shrugs. "Except that stuff." 

Steve rolls his eyes and turns back to his food, chewing a few more bites with silence, when another idea popped into his head. He narrows his eyes at Bucky. "But, uh. In all seriousness...when I’m in the shower, and...stuff…” he trails off awkwardly, not knowing how to phrase what he was trying to get across. He clears his throat, which starts feeling thick.

“Yeah, I get it.” Bucky rolls his blue eyes. “Calm down, kid. I’m not gonna abuse my powers. I can respect a guys privacy. Even if you are technically in _my_ apartment.”

“I’m payin’ the bills,” Steve scoffs and watches as Bucky gets to his feet and stretches. Again, Steve is struck by how solid he looks, as if Steve could just reach out and touch the soft fabric of his clothing, as if Bucky wouldn’t melt into thin air. He pops a roll into his mouth and speaks around it, pointing his chopsticks accusingly at Bucky again. “So you can shuddup ‘bout it. Freeloader.”

Bucky shrugs that one off and takes to keeping himself busy (and away from Steve’s raw fish) by looking at the many pictures Steve had put up.

“Those people that were here the other night,” Bucky begins, picking up a photo of Steve, Nat, Clint and Sam all smiling at a little bistro in Manhattan. “They really love you.”

Steve smiles fondly down at his food. Nat, Clint, and Sam were his best friends, and he was lucky he’d found them. After his mother died, Steve had pretty much cut off everyone he’d been close to in the heat of his grief, and he was completely alone. It was a dark time.

“They’re family.” Steve replies easily, taking a sip of his water. He watches Bucky studying the pictures, noticing the almost wistful look on Bucky's face. He didn't want to think about what had happened to all of Bucky's friends, and Steve supposed Bucky probably didn't either. "I love them, too." 

“They look familiar.” Bucky frowns, squinting at the pictures. Steve can see his mind working. “When they were here the other night, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d seen them before. Especially the redhead. Nat.”

Steve shrugs, not surprised by this notion. “They’re Avengers. You may have seen them on TV, or in the newspapers..not sure if you were subjected to either of those alone in the apartment, but. Nat is Black Widow, Clint is Hawkeye, and Sam is Falcon. They're in the news all the time, since their identities were outed.”

Bucky says something in Russian under his breath, and squints harder at the picture, a few stray pieces of hair falling into his face. “Widow,” he repeats slowly, looking confused.

Steve watches Bucky’s mind race a few moments, but he ultimately drops it, not commenting further. Steve doesn’t know what to think, but bookmarks this incident for later.

“You’re friends with superheroes?” Bucky asks to change the subject. He looks at Steve over his shoulder, a daring spark hiding behind his eyes. “Do you have some kind of secret super power you’re not telling me about?”

“Being able to talk to obnoxious ghosts, apparently,” He sighs dryly. “But, no. I’m nothin’ special. I met Sam through a VA office, when I first started doing art therapy for war vets who were recovering from PTSD and trying to adjust back to civilian life.”

Bucky hums at that, looking at Steve with kind eyes. “That’s real sweet, Stevie. Maybe if I had been born in a different era, if I was just a regular vet in Brooklyn...we’d have been friends.” There is something so gentle and wishful about the way Bucky says that, it makes Steve’s heart skip with hope and dread at the same time, the realization that they could never have a normal friendship. 

Bucky’s words paint a picture for Steve; Bucky, smiling shyly from the corner of Steve’s class. Bucky, making jokes for the other vets, helping everyone feel at ease. Bucky bringing Steve coffee and scolding him for trying to climb the furniture to reach things that were too high, Bucky playfully bumping his shoulder into Steves, binging TV and overeating and laughing until it hurt their bellies and cheeks...

Perhaps, if it was another life, if Bucky had just been a man in Brooklyn with those devastating cheekbones and kind eyes...he would’ve never looked at Steve twice. People that looked like Bucky didn’t give a rat’s ass about people that looked like Steve; it was the natural order of things.

“We’re friends now, Buck,” Steve reminds him gently, with a small, encouraging smile. He hopes he does a convincing job of hiding the sadness that he feels hanging around the edges of his vision. “Now is all we have.”

Bucky’s lips twitch back at Steve, not quite a smile, but close, something in his eyes lost in a sea of questions and uncertainties. “Yeah, Ace,” Bucky agrees faintly, straightening up from where he’d been examining the pictures. “I know.”

Steve feels the desperate itch to change the conversation; he wanted more than anything to make that old, sad look in Bucky’s eyes disappear. “But it’s not always easy, being friends with superheroes, y’know. They’re gone for work a lot and it makes me worry ‘bout ‘em. It’s a dangerous line of work.”

“I can imagine.” Bucky muses, not fighting the subject change. He shifts his weight. “Well, m’sure they’re good at what they do. That redhead--Natalia--she seemed to have more than a little fire in her when she was here the other day.”

Steve frowned, confused. “Natalia? You mean Natasha?”

Bucky blinks, as if he didn’t realize what he’d said. “Nat.” He repeats slowly, unsure of himself. There is a long silence. “Я ее помню,” he says in Russian, and Steve frowns deeper.

“What?”

Bucky only blinks at him, looking very lost, as if he was startled by what he’d said.

“You said, Natalia.” Steve sits up a little straighter, goosebumps rising on his arms. Something wasn’t right. “But you’ve never even heard me refer to her in her full name before.” He was pretty sure, at least. Very rarely did Steve ever call Nat by her full name--she had told him that she preferred the nickname. “Most people don’t even know that it’s her real name.”

Bucky waves his hands vaguely. He looks confused himself like he genuinely wasn’t sure where that tidbit of information had come from. He turns away from Steve, looking out at the window. “Honestly, Steve, I don’t know why I know that. I told you, my memories are incomplete. I can’t trust ‘em at all. I don’t even remember how I died...days after waking up in this house are missing...the Russian...” He shakes his head. “My mind is full of blind spots. Blanks. I must have just gotten her confused with someone else.”

“But--”

“Steve,” Bucky says, a little sharply, still not turning to face him. “I wish I knew, alright? But I don’t have answers for you. My memory...can’t be trusted. I can’t be--” he cuts off with a sharp laugh, void of humour or warmth. "Christ," He mutters under his breath, rubbing a hand roughly across his forehead, as if physically wiping away all the bad memories.

Steve presses his lips together and doesn’t say anything. He’d have to ask Nat about it later. He couldn’t keep this ghost thing a secret forever, his friends were intuitive--they had to be, in their line of work. They’d figure out sooner rather than later that Steve was hiding something. The intruder alone was going to be a big enough secret, never mind his undead-dead roommate.

Steve was pretty sure that if they found out he’d been hiding something big like that, he’d be joining Bucky on the other side of the veil. 

Bucky clears his throat, and half-turns towards Steve, squinting at another picture. “Is this your mother?” He nods to a photo of Steve smiling with his mother, standing in the kitchen with flour on his cheek. Although Bucky was obviously trying to change the subject into something outside himself, Steve didn’t entirely mind.

“Yeah,” Steve admits, suddenly feeling less hungry. He sets his chopsticks down and clears his throat. “She died three years ago,” Steve murmurs, voice quiet. “Cancer.”

Bucky makes a soft, sad sound. It sounds so genuine and hurt that something sad inside Steve responds to it, flinching with the shared pain. “M’Sorry, Stevie. That musta been real hard. She was beautiful.”

“She was.” He agrees wholeheartedly. “Inside and out. The best person I’ve ever known. And my best friend.”

His mother. Blond hair, blue eyes. A smile that could thaw out New York in the dead of winter, and a heart that was big enough to love every single person she ever met. Sarah Rogers was the last person on the earth who deserved cancer.

But Steve often found that the world was cruel and unfair. It’s almost always the people with the kindest souls that get dealt the worst hands in life.

If Bucky were alive, and Sarah were alive---Steve bets she would’ve _loved_ Bucky.

“You look just like her.” Bucky muses softly. “Really, you do. You’ve got her eyes, her smile.”

Steve blinked. It had been such a long time since anyone had expressed that sentiment, but it made his stomach flip. It was something he’d heard all the time, when people saw him and his mother together, but it had been years. It made him feel more connected to her, knowing he carried around a piece of her, evidence he could see each time he looked in the mirror. “Thank you,” Steve murmurs sincerely.

Bucky looks at Steve over his shoulder. He must notice Steve’s eyes watering, because he turns quickly away, back to the picture, giving Steve privacy. “You don’t have any other family?”

“She was it,” Steve admits, blinking until the dampness goes away. “My dad died overseas. I don’t have any other siblings--both my parents were only children. My family is Nat, Clint, and Sam, now.” And it was true. The four of them were family to Steve; they had seen him at his lowest, his highest, and every drunk Saturday in-between.

Sam, especially. Sam sat with Steve holding his hand through the bought of pneumonia last winter that the doctors, and everyone else for that matter, was sure would claim Steve’s life. Sam was there for him in the dark weeks after losing his mom, losing everything. He was there through it all, and Sam never faltered in his support. He was, as all of Steve’s friends were, loyal to a fault.

It never mattered that his friends were Avengers. That came first when it had to, sure, but in all the years that Steve had known Clint, Nat and Sam, there had been only a handful of times where the job threw a big wrench in something major. Steve knew how much they cared about him, so when saving the world had to come first, he really didn’t mind.

“Bet your Ma would be real proud, knowin’ her boy has an apartment all to himself. A job doin’ what he loves. Friends that love him.” Bucky offers Steve a small smile, and Steve is grateful for it. Between the two of them, Steve would definitely say Bucky had a lot more to be mournful about, but here he was making Steve feel better, and Steve appreciated it. There is no lingering tension between them, only a comfortable quietness. “You’ve got a lot goin’ for you, Stevie.”

“Thanks, Bucky,” Steve says sincerely. “Y’know, She’s the one who taught me to paint,” Steve gestures to the sketch on the wall of the Brooklyn skyline. It felt easy to talk to Bucky about things that made Steve’s skin itch to talk about with anyone else. “She was always much more talented than me, but,” he shrugs a little self consciously. “It helps me feel close to her.”

Steve remembers her so clearly, if he tries hard enough, standing barefoot in the living room, hair tied up into a thoughtless bun that somehow still looked sophisticated and planned out. She has a paintbrush clutched in her delicate fingers and a streak of blue paint on her cheek that only served to make her eyes look more vibrant against her fair skin. Soft music plays in the background and his mother sings soft and low along to it, her voice wrapping around him like a hug. The sun spilling across her canvas and she looks up, smiling in that soft way of hers. There is a healthy glow to her cheeks that Steve would miss dearly once she became sick. She waves her paintbrush at him in a gesture of “hello” and the memory fades away, back to a lonely reality without her.

Bucky tilts his head in consideration and the movement makes Steve remember where he is; sitting in his apartment with a ghost. “You haven’t painted since you’ve been here,” He remarks.

“Been busy dealin’ with the asshole that’s been haunting the place,” Steve snorts, running a hand back through his hair. “My commissions do okay, though. I gotta get back to ‘em tomorrow or else I’ll fall behind.” Steve had three on the go right now, and while one was almost complete, the other two weren’t as far along as he’d like them to be and he didn’t want his clients waiting any longer than they already had been.

“You any good?” Bucky arches a brow, testing him. There is a playful glint in his eyes.

Steve simply snorts and shrugs one shoulder, not bothered by Bucky’s question. “You’ll have to tell me tomorrow when you see ‘em, I guess. But I’m not terrible.” He brushes his hair out of his eyes and begins to gather up the garbage from his dinner.

Bucky seems like he's going to let that one go and let the silence sit between them, but then he squints at Steve and takes a couple of steps closer. His eyes lock on Steve’s hand. The air around them gets colder and the hair on Steve’s arms stands up.

“Buck?” Steve frowns, pausing. He didn’t know what Bucky looked so upset about, and how this could’ve happened so suddenly.

There is a tense moment of silence between them, where Steve holds his breath, not sure what Bucky was going to do next. The comfortable conversation drops.

The air floods with tension.

“What happened to your hand.” Bucky’s voice is sharp and unimpressed as he reaches out to Steve’s right hand like he wants to touch it, probe at the wounds to see where it hurts. He lets his own hand fall at the last second with a brief look of anger crossing his handsome features. Steve supposes he was half remembering his limits, half pissed at Steve for whatever reason.

Steve instinctively curls his hand into a fist and tucks it down at his side, out of Bucky’s glaring gaze. “Nothing,” he murmurs, avoiding eye contact. He works to keep his voice from sounding too small or too fighty. He didn’t need Bucky’s anger directed at him; not that white-hot avenging angel he’d unleashed on Junkie. “Forget it.”

“Did that guy hurt you that bad?” Something dangerous flickers in Bucky’s normally calm sea-blue eyes. It was something fiercely protective, something Steve had seen before a few times now, in Bucky’s face.

Steve wasn’t sure how he felt about that, the fact that Bucky was getting protective over him. Something from his psychology 101 courses in college was ringing in the back of his mind, warning him that whatever their budding friendship was, it wasn’t healthy and it definitely wasn’t normal.

“He did hurt me,” Steve admits, wincing a little both at the splitting headache and his aching ribs, but also from the knowledge that when he admitted to Bucky that he had bruised knuckles before, he was probably going to get scolded the same way Sam would lay into him every time he came home to their apartment with a new bruise or cut from a fight.

“But?” Bucky inquires, obviously sensing there was more to the story. He still looks thoroughly unimpressed, features frozen in a disapproving scowl that was erring a little on the dangerous side.

Steve bristles under the attention. He wasn’t a child--Bucky had looked out for him, sure, but that didn’t mean he was responsible for Steve. The care-taker attitude was not impressing him.

“This happened last week, so. My knuckles were already scabbed and bruised from that, but. Junkie didn’t help. It’s fine, though. It doesn’t really bug me anymore. It’s nothing to worry ‘bout.”

Bucky tenses visibly. Steve tenses too, bracing for an argument he really didn’t want to have, it was a familiar one, one he’d had with Nat and Clint and Sam multiple times. “What happened?”

“Got in a fight,” Steve says plainly, clenching his jaw and folding his arms tightly over his chest. Might as well be honest.

“A fight,” Bucky repeats slowly like he’s having a hard time understanding. He squints. “You were...jumped?”

“Did I say I was jumped?” Steve rolls his eyes, getting defensive. “No, I didn’t. I said I got into a fight. What, you think that just because I’m small and….and skinny, that I can’t get into fights? Is that it?” He puffs up his chest a little out of habit, lifting his chin in a defiant way that he hopes makes him look powerful rather than pitiful. “I get into lots of fights. With a lot of people. Often.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, but he raises his eyebrows in a_ is this guy serious_ kind of way that makes Steve’s blood boil. His temper had a pretty short fuse, and Bucky Barnes had lit it.

“I may not be the biggest, or the healthiest, or strongest. But if I see something that’s wrong, I can’t ignore that. I’m not just going to walk away from a bunch of guys cat-calling a girl who looked no older than 16.” He fumes, folding his arms defensively. “And guess what? They kicked my ass--they kicked my ass so hard I was limping _for a week_. But that girl got to walk away, unhurt, and maybe she saw that and maybe she realized that every single guy on this planet is not an evil, soul-sucking douche bag.” Steve yells, and then rocks back on his heels. “‘Cause most of ‘em are.”

“You’re not.”

“What?”

“A...what did you call ‘em? A soul-sucking douche bag. You’re not.” Bucky says softly. The anger has faded from his eyes. “You’re an idiot. But I’ll give it to you--you’re brave, Steve.”

“Brave,” Steve repeats, snorting a little. Brave wasn’t the word Sam used when Steve stumbled back into the apartment after getting his lights knocked out a few times. Crazy, maybe. Impulsive. Insane. Stubborn. Lacking self-preservation. “I ain’t brave. I just don’t like bullies. Don’t care who they are.”

“You stood up to a group of guys probably twice your size, for a stranger.” Bucky murmurs.

“Yeah.”

“You lost your mom, the best person in your life, and came out on the other end stronger. You bought an apartment that everyone said was haunted ‘cause you fell in love with it--you didn’t care what they thought. You’re best friends with the Avengers, and you gotta worry ‘bout them getting hurt all the time...and I’m sure the bad guys they go up against would jump at the chance to get their hands on someone all the Avengers love. So you gotta worry about being the target, too, right? All of that stuff takes a certain kind of bravery, Steve,” Bucky looks at Steve with warmth in his features. “And you got it, without even realizing it.”

Steve is silent for a long moment. He’d never really thought of himself as brave before--more like stubborn or thick-skinned. But he didn’t take the compliment lightly. It would be impossible to not feel at least a little flattered, with Bucky’s genuine gaze staring him down.

“Thank you.” Steve says finally, his voice soft and sincere. The anger leaves his system. 

“Can you at least try to stay out of fights? For a little while?” Bucky pleads then, batting his eyelashes. It was playful, but there was a sense of seriousness in the question, too. Bucky didn’t like the idea of Steve getting hurt, Steve knew that much. Bucky had some kind of protector complex.

“Nope,” Steve says, popping his lips on the p. Fighting was a fundamental aspect of Steve's personality, no changing that now. “Too late for that. Sorry, Buck.”

“No, you ain’t.”

“No, I ain’t.” Steve agrees softly.

Bucky hums in reply and nudges his head towards Steve’s hands. “Might wanna ice those up if you got a lot of painting to do tomorrow. I ain’t an expert, but I think you gotta be able to use your hands to do a half-decent job, yeah?”

Steve flexes his fingers again. They were tender, but not painful in a way that made it uncomfortable to move. Ice wasn’t a terrible idea. The tension between them was broken, though, and for that Steve was grateful.

“Maybe you should just come stand over here, since you’re so damn cold. M’sure that would do the trick.” Steve huffs, though he heads to the freezer anyways in search of his injury-peas.

Bucky lets out a rumbling belly-laugh at that, and Steve can’t help but smile in response. He really likes that sound.

“I’ll be sure to leave you alone, then, since I'm so cold.” Bucky holds his hands up in a ‘surrender’ position with a crooked smile that makes Steve stomach jump a little. “Can’t have you gettin’ sick, can we?”

“No!” Steve says, but it comes out too fast and too desperate. It makes him sound like he’ll fall apart if Bucky leaves. “I mean.” He clears his throat. “You don’t have to go, but. You can do what you want.”

“Off I go, then?” Bucky smirks, clearly enjoying the colour Steve’s face was turning. “You showin’ me the proverbial door, Ace? I can leave you alone for a bit, if you want. I know you didn’t sign up for a roommate. Fella needs to have his alone time every now and then, to uh...take care of business.” Bucky wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Steve’s face gets hotter, but he broods and stares at the floor, arms folded. He was _not _going to think of Bucky watching him when he--nope. _No way. Not thinking about that at all_.

“Not showing you any kind of door. You can stick around.”

“That so?”

“Mm. Only if you’re going to stop buggin’ me.” Steve replies smartly.

Bucky bats his eyes lashes innocently. “I can be good.”

“I ought to start chargin’ you rent or something.”

Bucky giggles a little, a childish, snarky sound. 

“Fuckin’ freeloader,” Steve grumbles under his breath, but he’s fighting a smile hard.

Bucky’s giggling turns into full-bodied laughter, eyes closed, head thrown back, mouth wide open kind of laughter. "Freeloader!" He echoes around his fits of booming laughter, "Unbelievable!" 

Steve has to stop dead just to watch, caught up in the beauty of it all, his lips parted in awe.

A sunflower, aching towards the warm light of the sun.  
***

That night is quiet. Steve can hear the traffic humming by, the rumble of trucks and motorcycles, but it all fades into the background of the familiar New York lullaby. The moonlight is bright enough to cast his room in a barely-there glow, and Steve sits crossed-legged on his bed, back propped up against the wall. He’s got his fairy lights on, because his inner white girl demands it so, and he’s too smart to deny himself the simple pleasures he knows he damn well deserves.

The evening is soft and romantic, and there is a deep contentedness in his belly that settles in, getting comfortable. The air outside is just cold enough at this time of year to make inside seem impossibly cozy--Steve had always loved the fall, even if the colder weather wreaked havoc on his body.

Steve’s bed, made out of stacked up old palettes he’d found, didn’t creak as he shifted around to get more comfortable. The mattress was new and there was no need for a box spring, so the rustling of the sheets as he pulled them up higher over his lap was the only sound.

“No, of course not!” Steve laughs, shaking his head at Bucky. Bucky was perched on the other end of the bed, far enough away that his cold presence didn’t chill Steve too badly, looking completely at ease in Steve’s bedroom, and appearing more real than he had any right to look in the glow of the moon and the fairy lights. “I ain’t got anyone special. Haven’t been on a date in years.”

They had spent all day together, talking about nothing in particular and yet everything, all at once. Steve painted for a bit and Bucky watched contently, staying mostly silent but piping in here and there to ask Steve about his mother, or his work, or compliment his art.

During lunch, Bucky made Steve laugh so hard he had root beer coming out of his nose--and it burned, but it only made both him and Bucky laugh harder, the kind of laugh that makes your stomach hurt, the laugh where you’re laughing so hard you’re not even making any sound, your shoulders are just shaking with the force of it. It was delicious laughter--but thinking back, Steve can’t even remember what it was that had started it. It just became contagious, the two of them feeding off of each other's silliness like giddy children.

“It’s been years since you’ve taken a dame dancing?” Bucky scoffs, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. “When you talk like that, makes you sound older than me.”

“First of all, I don’t go on dates with dames. I go on dates with. Sometimes, I…” Steve shrugs, not sure how Bucky was going to take the news of him being gay. Steve didn’t know how Bucky would take it. He came from a different era. In Bucky’s time, certain types of love were illegal, punishable by law. He pauses too long, and Bucky gives him a knowing look.

“Fellas?” Bucky supplies gently, voice barely audible.

Steve looks up at him, startled, waiting to see the look of disgust on Bucky’s face. But there is only curiosity and warmth, a friendly smile on his handsome face.

“Y-Yeah,” Steve admits, still hesitant. He’d been out since he was 15 and he’d gotten over the fear of telling people a long time ago he was gay--but things were much, much different in Bucky’s time, and he felt the nervous ache he used to get when coming out to people.  
If Steve had been alive then, just holding another man's hand could’ve been enough to arrest him. He clears his throat, “I like goin’ on dates with fellas.”

“Me too.” Bucky says without hesitation at all, and doesn’t give enough time for Steve to digest that before he’s plowing on. “So, you go dancin’ a lot, with your dates? Do people still do that for fun?”

“They do,” Steve agrees with a snort, considering how loosely the term dancing is thrown around in his generation. He tries not to dwell on the fact Bucky had said me, too, or what that meant for a million different things. He didn’t need any more fuel to the fire of fantasy that was already lit and burning in the back of Steve’s mind regarding Bucky and his muscles. “Only, ‘dancing’ these days consists of dry sex on a dance floor while being so drunk you spill half your drink on the other person, and the rest on yourself. Nothing romantic ‘bout it.”

Bucky grins wickedly. There is something dangerous and taunting in his eyes, like he’d just learned something delicious about Steve that he planned to use against him. “Sounds _fun_.”

“It’s really not. I can’t dance--not your kind of dancing, and not the new kind, either. I’ve got two left feet. I avoid it at all costs.”

“You just don’t know how to dance,” Bucky corrects, jabbing a finger in Steve’s direction. “You just gotta learn.”

“_No one_ knows how to dance, not like how you guys used to. That’s real out of style, old man.” Steve pictures that woman in the puffy dress again, twirling around the kitchen with Bucky.

“It’s not _out of style_ to dance, Stevie. Dancin’ is human nature. It’s the best way to get someone to fall in love with you, you know.” Bucky’s wearing a cocky grin, crooked and relaxed.

Steve can see what Peggy meant about Bucky being a skirt-chaser. With that smile, and those eyes...Steve was having a hard time thinking coherently.

“That so?” Steve challenges with a scoff, trying not to let his nervousness show, though he was pretty sure Bucky saw right through him.

“Scientifically proven,” Bucky nods, but Steve senses bullshit. 

“Well science has come a long way since your day. We've even got the internet now; you'll love it."

Bucky only rolls his eyes, and gets to his feet. The bed doesn’t move with his weight, proof of his fluidity. He was only air, a trick of the light...and yet the way his eyes shone in the moonlight said otherwise. 

It made Steve’s head and chest ache to think about how Bucky both _was_ and _was not_.

“Stand up!” Bucky orders, squaring his shoulders. The stray curl that never seems to stay put fell in his forehead once again, and it somehow makes Bucky look just the right amount of disheveled, rather than unkempt. Steve was pretty sure Bucky could make a garbage bag look like haute couture.

“C’mon, Steve, please. I’ve been dead and silent for _so long_, I’m dyin’ for some fun.” His pleading expression persisted, and Steve knows he isn't going to be able to say no for long. “_Literally_.”

Steve purses his lips in contemplation. “Bucky, I don’t know--”

“_Please_?”

“You tryna make me fall in love with your somethin’?” Steve grumbles unhappily, sliding off the bed to get grumpily to his feet. 

Bucky takes a step dangerously close, making the hair on Steve’s arms raise up with the chill of him. “And what if I am, sweetheart?”

Steve blinks up at him, stunned by the response. He gapes like a fish, unable to think of anything witty or sharp to say back. He just stares, wide eyed, as Bucky grins down at him, totally unbothered, if a little amused.

“W-What? No. No, you. Y-You’re--” Steve chokes out, but his response is much too delayed, and Bucky looks _much_ too pleased. Steve knows he’s lost this one. He bristles.

“One dance,” Bucky begs, his eyes glimmering with hope and something curious. “C’mon, Stevie. What's the harm?”

“Right,” Steve says unhappily. He hunches in himself. “Okay, fine, but--”

Bucky isn't having any of it. He holds up his hand to silence Steve and makes a flicking motion with his wrist.

Steve’s phone started playing some kind of soft, crooning song that sounded oddly familiar.

“How did you--” Steve begins, but stops short when Bucky winks at him, making his heart stutter and reset. Bucky was often doing things that elicited this type of response from Steve, and it was raising alarm bells in Steve’s head.

_I’ll be seeing you, in all the old familiar places_… Billie Holiday croons from Steve’s phone. The music seems to drift out of the tiny speaker to fill up the whole space, wrapping around them like an embrace.

“Now,” Bucky begins. “Music is the first step, and we’ve got that taken care of. So, if you wanna get a hot date, you gotta be able to show him a good time.” Bucky steps his feet apart and holds out his arms, one up beside his head, bent at the elbow, and the other extended at his shoulder height, slightly curved as if an invisible person was going to slide right into his arms and waltz into the night. He takes up the posture easily, and Steve can imagine not for the first time, Bucky dancing the night away at some obscure little dance hall, dames lining up for their turn to be spun around the floor by the likes of James Barnes. 

_That this heart of mine embraces all day through..._

“C’mere,” Bucky urges, nodding towards the circle he’d created. “I’ve gotta teach you how to dance, Ace, and you can’t learn by watching.” There was something low about Bucky’s voice, something almost daring. As if he was saying_ bet you wont’ come closer, bet you wouldn’t dare_, and Steve has never walked away from a challenge, so he lifts his chin and west his lips nervously.

_In that small cafe, the park across the way, the children's carouse_l…

He stepped into Bucky’s open arms and held up his hands to match with Bucky’s. There was nothing but cold air--nothing physical or warm, so their hands just hovered within centimeters of each other, unable to touch but buzzing with energy.

_The chestnut tree, the wishing well…_

“Okay, I’m going to step back, then left, then forward. You’re going to step forward, right then back,” Bucky tilts his chin down a little to meet Steve’s eyes. “We’ll go slow. Ready?”

_I’ll be seeing you in every lovely summer’s day._

“I’ve got two left feet,” Steve warns, feeling a little self-conscious. Bucky seemed so at ease in everything he did, so confident and sure of himself, while Steve’s chest fluttered irregularly, his heart beating so fast Steve was afraid it was sputtering out of his chest. He wonders if Bucky can hear it.

_In everything that's light and gay…_.

“Doesn’t bug me, kid. I’m here to help.” Bucky flashes a crooked grin. “Okay, here we go. One.” They both step together in unison. Steve doesn’t mess it up, by some miracle.

“Good!” Bucky praises happily. “You got it. Okay, now...two.” Bucky steps to the left, and Steve steps to the right, their hands and bodies still moving as one unit, just barely overlapping.

“This isn’t too hard,” Steve laughs a little, pleased that he was catching on. “I’m doing it!”

_I’ll always think of you that way.._.

“Don’t get too cocky now, Stevie. Three,” Bucky directs, and Steve stumbles a little. Bucky didn’t have any physical feet for Steve to step on, but he catches himself and finds the movement again, to which Bucky is delighted.

“One,” Bucky says, and they move. “Two, three.”

“One, two, three,” Steve whispers, looking down at the way their feet followed one another, playing off the direction and speed of the other partner.

They were a unit, swaying together under the light of the dying moon, the creaky wooden floors kissing the soles of their feet to life, sparking an energy that shot right up Steve’s body, all the way to the top of his head. It burst like a firework into the night, filling the room with a comfortable air. He felt _safe. _

Later, much later, when the snow falls on New York and secrets are spilled out like water breaking free of a dam, Steve will sob and hold on to his bedsheets and let his violent, ugly tears stream down his face. He will listen to this song and he'll let the lyrics tear him apart, he will be broken open and alone, but he at least he'd have this moment, this quiet stillness of the moon and the song and Bucky’s cool embrace to hold onto. This memory would burn itself into his eyelids, would sear itself onto his soul. It would become a part of him.

_I’ll find you in the morning sun, and when the night is blue_…

“One, two, three,” Bucky murmurs, and his voice gets soft and warm, like honey. It drips from his full lips. “That’s it, Stevie. You’re doing so good, doll. You’re a natural. Such a quick learner, ain’t ya?”

Steve blushed under the compliment, attempting to hide how easily Bucky flustered him by staring down at their feet again.

“One, two, three, one, two, three,” Steve mumbles, not wanting to miss a step. Bucky is freezing, but Steve’s on fire, every particle of him torn between wanting to run away and wanting to melt into the cool promise of Bucky forever. There was something so tender about the way Bucky cradled him, like he was trying to wrap Steve up for real, their bodies curved together. They fit, somehow.

“Don’t hide your face,” Bucky scolds gently. “It’s a sin to hide such a beautiful face, you know. If you’re trying to impress a date, you’ve gotta stare into their eyes while you dance. That’s where the romance really comes in.”

_I’ll be seeing you…_

“I don’t--” Steve looks up to catch Bucky’s gaze. 

“Just look at me, doll.” Bucky suggests earnestly, as if Steve could do anything else. “For practice.”

Steve notices the fullness of Bucky’s lips, how prominent his cupids bow was--he’d love to draw it, to immortalize Bucky’s red lips on his pages forever, where he could stare at them unabashed, without having to worry what smart things they would say to turn Steve’s cheeks a scarlet shade. 

_In every lovely summer’s day, in everything that’s light and gay, I’ll always think of you that way…_

He forces himself to meet Bucky’s pale eyes, that have seen so much of the world and its horrors and yet so little. The walls of Steve’s apartment were Bucky’s life now, and had been for many years.

Steve wondered what kind of dreams would dance under Bucky’s eyelids if he could sleep; what kind of nightmares would creep in when the lights went out. He wondered if he would paint any of the colors of his dreamland if Steve would show up there with a warm smile and inviting arms.

_I will find you in the morning sun..._

They stare at each other and continue their three-step around Steve’s bedroom floor, keeping in time and listening to the crooning from Steve’s phone. Steve’s ribs protested a little at the movement, but it was easy enough to ignore in favour of indulging the moment.

Bucky’s face was intense, staring at Steve like nothing else in the world mattered like there were only the two of them and the stars. He studies Steve's face like he's finally realizing something, coming to a wondrous conclusion to a problem he'd been trying to solve all along. 

Bucky’s lips are so full--why did they have to be like that?--parted just so and a little damp, like his tongue had recently darted out to moisten them.

Steve feels his own lips part in response--it was instinctual, like a magnet responding to another, a sunflower to the sun. To taste, to _press--_

_And when the night is new..._

Bucky didn’t look away, and Steve was too interested in the depth he saw in Bucky to look anywhere else. There was wonder, curiosity, warmth and playfulness in Bucky’s pale eyes. 

There was something so intense about the moment, the two of them not touching but dancing together in the pale moonlight, the floorboards groaning under Steve’s weight but never Bucky's, the cool night itching to come inside, the two of them separated by years and years, and yet...by nothing at all.

_I’ll be looking at the moon…_

Bucky tilts his head down, just a fraction--it’s hardly anything, really--but if Bucky were solid, his lips would be just inches away from Steves. If Bucky were _alive_, if Steve _could_, he’d stretch up onto his tiptoes, he could tilt his head up towards Bucky’s just a little more, and part his lips, and--

_But I’ll be seeing you._

Steve stops, ruining the steady rhythm waltz they’d worked up to. Bucky falters immediately after, his hands falling, brows drawing up. Something like pain flashes across Bucky's features, but it's gone just as soon as it appeared, leaving Steve to wonder if he'd imagined it.

“Steve--” Bucky begins, and his voice is apologetic, reproachful, like he knew he had done something to disturb the mood just by the slight movement of his head--something fragile between them had shattered apart and melted away into the floorboards.

It had been stupid, dancing like that. Pretending, even for one moment, that it was something they could have. It could _never _be. Not ever. 

Steve feels miserable and pathetic, and too small for the space, like the big problems in the room would swallow him up. 

“No,” Steve murmurs, stepping back to put some space between them. He can’t look at Bucky, afraid of what else he'd see on Bucky's expressive face. “Just,” Steve shakes his head, stumbling back until he reaches the bed. His hands are shaking as he pulls back the sheets and gets into bed. “Don't."

"Steve, I--" Bucky tries again, but Steve screws his eyes shut childishly, as if doing so could make the feeling in his stomach go away. He wouldn't call them butterflies.

"No," He says shortly, his voice sharper than he intends. "I don’t want to talk about it--it’s fine, just. I’m tired; I’ll see you in the morning.”

Steve pulls the covers up to his chin, and rolls over without another word, ignoring the way his heart was racing in his throat and the fact that he felt much too awake to fall asleep anytime soon.

Bucky lingers for a few minutes longer, and then murmurs a soft goodnight, and closes the door gently on his way out, and that is that.

Steve is left alone, with a throbbing heart and a mind full of questions.

\---------------------------------------  
Bucky comes back shortly after saying goodnight, sneaking in when he's sure Steve is asleep, snoring softly into the pillow. He looks so small, wrapped up in numerous blankets and curled in on himself, in that too-big bed. His breath wheezes softly. The sound had become familiar to Bucky, and his shoulders relax a little as his listens. 

Bucky's afraid, after what happened with the break-in. Seeing the intruder jump on Steve, hurt him like that…it unsettled Bucky like nothing ever had before. Even now, remembering it, ice shot through his veins. 

He watches Steve toss and turn and dream.

He wonders how different things would be if he could pull the covers up just a little higher on Steve’s chin--was he cold?--or if he could brush his fingers along Steve’s cheek and feel him sigh into the touch. How different things would be if the world was a kinder place, if he and Steve had a chance in hell at whatever it was that had crescendoed between them that evening. 

The moon watches Steve just as intensely as Bucky does, neither of them blinking in their close guard.

Bucky looks out the window and promises the sky that he wouldn’t be the one to ruin Steve. He wouldn’t be the one to take advantage of that bravery and turn it into heartbreak.

In his sleep, Steve reaches out a hand towards Bucky.

It stays empty, grasping at the night air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm...things are happening!!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Don't forget to comment & leave kudos, they truly mean the world to me! 
> 
> Next chapter coming next week, maybe sooner!! Subscribe so you don't miss an update! 
> 
> See you soon :)
> 
> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Я ее помню = I remember her


	5. To Feel My Nerves Wake Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve learns that night that ghosts can cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!! This chapter is angsty trash :-) 
> 
> Sorry not sorry....love you all :)

_"Touch me someone_

_I'm too young to feel so_   
_Numb, numb, numb, numb_   
_You could be the one to_

_Make me feel something, something"_

_ \- _Feel Something, Jaymes Young 

* * *

The next morning, Bucky stays away from Steve as the blond gets up and gets ready for the day. He turns the coffee pot on and steps away to be elsewhere, giving Steve space. 

He hovers in the kitchen while Steve showers, in the living room while he makes breakfast, putting enough distance between them so that Steve wouldn’t have to feel him lingering. 

As Steve comes into the kitchen, hair damp and smelling like roses, he blinks at the coffee machine and his lips twitch into something of a smile. Bucky watches curiously as Steve scrubs a hand through his hair and adjusts his glasses higher up on his nose. Sometimes, it was difficult to tell what Steve was thinking.

He was wearing a pale blue knit sweater that was too big on his slender frame, with light wash denim pants and polka dot socks. The blue sweater combined with his thick-framed glasses made Steve’s eyes look an unholy shade of blue, the shock of them bright against the paleness of Steve’s face. They sit a bit crooked on his nose--Bucky itches to readjust them. 

“Don’t hafta hide,” Steve murmurs, grabbing the coffee once it was ready. Bucky knew Steve was talking to him, but he only clenches his jaw, not moving closer or responding. 

Last night had been playing over and over in Bucky’s mind--the heat rolling off of Steve making Bucky feel more alive than he had in _ years, _those thick lashes blinking up at him, Steve’s pale pink lips just so, _torturously_ close. 

If Bucky were alive in times like these, where men could hold hands and kiss and go out to dinner together, he’d be lost for Steve. 

He’d be so sweet on him Steve wouldn’t know what to do with himself; Bucky would bring him home flowers just because and kiss him all over and come up behind him to wrap his arms around Steve’s small frame just to feel the flutter of Steve’s heart. 

Steve feels something too, Bucky is pretty sure. The crimson blush that overtook Steve’s face every time Bucky winked or complimented him was a giveaway, but it didn’t matter, and that was perhaps the worst part. Not worrying about _if _Steve felt anything, but the knowledge that even if they were soulmates, time and circumstance had ensured they never got the pleasure of each other's embrace. 

It didn’t matter a bit what either of them felt. They were incompatible, the universe had made sure of that. 

Bucky wouldn’t want Steve to be with someone who couldn’t even hold him, no matter how selfish he was tempted to be with his love. 

“Y’know, I never used to drink coffee. Maybe on the rare occasion, here or there. But, really, I only bought a Keurig so that I’d have it when my friends come over.” 

Bucky watches Steve add some sugar, a little milk. Stirs it in. 

“But I think you’re turning me into a coffee drinker. I know you love the stuff.” 

Bucky did. He longed for a cup of coffee, to feel its warmth and bitterness spread through him. Bucky was always cold like he was trapped under the snow without sunlight. 

Steve, though, Steve made him feel warm. 

“Buck,” Steve tries again, softer, when Bucky still doesn’t reply. Steve’s hands, where they grip the mug, are bruised and scabbed over. Bucky feels a pang of protective rage at that--he didn’t want Steve’s skin to ever be marked by anything except out of love; kisses and love bites and bruises on that pale neck. Thinking of Steve in pain made Bucky’s stomach lurch uncomfortably. “Please.” 

Bucky swallows. Steve looked sad, restless, and Bucky knew from observation that he didn’t get much sleep last night, he tossed and turned and shook with dreams or nightmares, Bucky wasn’t sure. 

Bucky didn’t think he could ever say no to Steve, especially not with him looking so small and sad, clutching a hot coffee between those pale fingers.

“Not hiding,” Bucky murmurs softly, stepping into view. He looks apologetically at Steve. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me.” 

Steve rolls his eyes, but he looks relieved that Bucky was in the room. There is something in his shoulders that relaxes at Bucky’s presence, and it makes Bucky feel just a little, tiny bit warmer. 

“‘Course I wanna see you,” Steve grumbles, taking a sip of his coffee and moving to sit down at the tiny dining room table. He rests his chin on his fist and Bucky wants to scream at how adorable he looks in this moment, in this light. “I wanted to apologize for last night.” 

“Steve--” Bucky starts, frowning. _ He _was the one who should apologize. He knew exactly what he was doing when he asked Steve to dance, and it was entirely selfish. 

He wanted Steve to be close, wanted those eyes only on him, to see that blush creep down Steve’s neck and feel his sputtering pulse and uneven breathing and know that he was the reason for those responses.

Bucky wanted to see the effect he had on Steve, pretend for a moment that this was something they might be able to have. It was selfish and cruel to them both.

“No,” Steve interrupts. “Buck, look. Last night was…” he swallows, and Bucky traces the bob of his Adam’s apple. “I _liked_ it, dancing with you. And I hate dancing,” he pauses to smile shyly up at Bucky, and Bucky has to look away, afraid his face would tell too many of his secrets. “But we shouldn’t...do stuff like that.” 

Bucky knows what Steve means, but he asks anyway. “Stuff like what?”

Steve’s face takes on a pink twinge. The tips of ears turn red. “Uh,” he sputters. Bucky wants to kiss him, would give anything to be able to. “You--you know.” 

Bucky arches a brow, an amused smile twitching at his lips. Seeing Steve stutter was another one of his favourite things. “No, I really don’t.” He did. 

“Romantic stuff.” 

Bucky runs a hand back through his hair. A few stray strands fall onto his forehead, but he lets them be. “Yeah.” 

"Yeah, you agree we should stop?” 

Bucky didn’t _want _to agree, but he knew when he was wrong. “Yeah,” he says again, letting out a long sigh. “We should stop. Can’t have you fallin’ in love with me, now can we, sweetheart? That would just get all sorts of messy.” 

There it was, that blush that Bucky loved so much. “Y-Yeah,” Steve mutters, trying to make his voice sound sarcastic, though Bucky revels in the fact that it fails miserably. “That would be bad. And you should probably stop it with the pet names.” 

Bucky’s brow hikes up again, and a crooked smile takes over his face. He should stop--he _knows _he should stop. This was a dangerous game to be playing. He takes a seat across from Steve. “You don’t like when I call you sweetheart?” 

Steve won’t look at him, his face a crimson red. He stares pointedly down at his coffee cup. “I-I _ do,” _Steve argues, blinking fast. “But,” 

Bucky understood. “But you like it too much.” 

Steve looks at him then, a helpless sort of expression on his face, and nods once silently. 

Bucky hums thoughtfully. He had a big mouth--he wasn’t even sure if he _could _stop calling Steve all those sweet names that just came so naturally. It felt right, and the pleased expression that Steve made, the blush he earned if he crooned them just right...it was like an addiction. But it was selfish, all the same. Steve was making him realize he was an incredibly selfish person. “If you really want, I can stop.” 

Steve frowns down at his coffee. “I mean, I _do _like it,” He protests quietly. "I--I don't know what I want."

“Okay,” Bucky agrees, feeling like he's been thrown a lifeline. “Then I’ll keep doing it.” 

Steve puts his chin on his fist again. “But--”

“But we’ll cut it out with that other stuff. No more dancing, I got it.” Bucky puts a hand on his heart, the other one in the air. “Scout’s honour.” 

Steve grins and rolls his eyes. “Oh, please, you--” He snorts, but he’s cut off by a knock on the door. 

Bucky stands immediately, his muscles coiling. “Who is it. You’re not expecting anyone, are you?” 

“No,” Steve frowns, eyeing the door suspiciously. 

Bucky is already storming off to look. He had to keep Steve safe. 

“Buck, just hold on,” Steve is calling, jogging after him. Bucky peeks through the eyehole in the apartment door and sighs in resignation, stepping back to let Steve see. “It’s the redhead,” He narrates, and then retreats back into the apartment, “I’ll make myself scarce.”

Steve blinks after him, but when the Widow knocks again, he opens the door.

\----

“Nat,” Steve greets in surprise, which turns into a prompt: “What the ever-loving _fuck--” _ upon opening the door, stepping aside out of habit for a bruised and bloodied Natasha to come inside. 

She only glances at him briefly before brushing past him like she was on a mission, eyes narrowed as though she were looking for something. She scans the apartment. 

“I’m fine.” 

Steve blanches at her. She’s got a jagged cut across her cheekbone, her lip is split and caked in dried blood, and there is a very slight--but still noticeable--limp to her step when she slides past him.

“Uh. Well. You don’t _ look _fine,” Steve points out blankly, watching her with the door still wide open. 

She ignores him. “Vodka. You have any?” 

Steve’s jaw falls open, though he really shouldn’t be _ that _surprised. “You..want vodka.” 

She turns to face him, face growing impatient. “Yes, Steve. I just had a very unpleasant run-in with Hydra, and I’m in some pain, and I’d really like some vodka.” She then mutters something in Russian under her breath, shaking her head and turning away from him, headed for the kitchen.

Steve shuts the door. He looks around, but Bucky is nowhere to be seen, heard, or felt. He appreciates that he’s made his presence scarce--Natasha was intuitive as hell. After the first day with Lucky barking at seemingly nothing, she’d definitely notice if something was up. Bucky had better lay low.

Their conversation this morning--Steve wanted to get back to it, but at the same time, the idea of talking about it any longer mortified him. Bucky was so calm, so confident. Steve just didn’t have the same kind of grace. 

Something in his chest was bubbling up for Bucky, and it was a dangerous thing.

“It’s not even noon. How about coffee?” He offers as a compromise, following her into the kitchen. He pulls out a chair for her to fall into and she does, without a retort on how he was old-school or too chivalrous or anything of that nature, which was out of character for Nat.

She seems too tired to protest, simply waving her hands in dismissal. “Put vodka in the coffee.” She pauses. “Please.”

Steve could live with that, and he definitely appreciated the manners. He gets to work grabbing a mug and a coffee pod, setting both up at the Keurig. He hoped Bucky would behave himself. Nat seemed on edge and anything suspicious would definitely set her off.

“So,” he says conversationally when Nat doesn’t add anything else. It wasn't like her to show up at his doorstep bruised and bloodied; she normally like to keep work far away from Steve, since he was ultimately a civilian. “What...happened?” 

He doesn’t turn back around to face her but keeps himself busy with coffee. Steve hears Natasha let out a long sigh. 

"I just need a break," Nat mutters, "I need to get away from that stupid tower so I can _think. _I know we're missing something." 

Steve frowns. "Missing something?" He prompts gently. "Like--what?"

“Hydra is working on a project. Something _big_ that Stark’s got us investigating,” She replies, a sharp edge to her voice that tells Steve whatever it was, it was bad. “Can’t talk about it.”

Tony Stark--AKA Iron Man--was a playboy millionaire/superhero. Steve had never met the guy, but that’s mainly because A) if Tony Stark knew that 3 Avengers had befriended a scrawny un-enhanced artist he’d probably freak out because of the liability or something and B) Tony Stark was a millionaire/superhero, and Steve was a scrawny, un-enhanced artist. With asthma. Among other things. 

Tony took the lead on missions and was basically the head of the Avengers. He made the right calls, he got shit done, and he spent a lot of money in the process. He was kind of a big deal.

“That doesn’t sound good.” Steve murmurs. He knew he probably wasn’t going to get any more information out of Nat. This stuff was confidential. The more he knew, the more danger he’d be in, and his friends were always extra careful around Steve when they talked about work stuff. 

“It’s not,” Natasha says heatedly. Steve hears her adjust slowly in her seat, clearly in pain. “They’re two steps ahead of the game.” 

“Hmm?” 

“I just need to _think--_I know I can figure it out. I saw the files. They’ve got a...a weapon.” Natasha sounds distracted, not really listening to herself talk. The fact that she’s let her guard down so easily is surprising to Steve; usually Natasha would say nothing about her missions with the Avengers, she was more careful than Sam and Clint when it came to that stuff. She wasn’t censoring herself so much today, and Steve was naturally curious. 

“A weapon,” Steve repeats, trying not to let his tone convey how interested he really was. “Sounds bad.”

“It is bad,” She scoffs, almost like she was thinking out loud or talking to herself. “This weapon, it’s...it’s not like anything we’ve ever seen before. He’s like a ghost._ ” _

_ I know the feeling, _Steve thinks. He smiles a little to himself, at his private joke, and wonders where Bucky is now. The kitchen was sun-warm with no traces of cool air, and he didn’t have that particular feeling he usually got when Bucky was close.

After their moment last night, Bucky had been giving him a lot of space. Maybe a little more than Steve would’ve liked. 

“He?” Steve echoes. Usually weapons weren't gendered, as far as he knew.

“He,” She agrees, dabbing her lip and grimacing at the blood that comes away on her finger. Steve wets a hand towel with cool water and offers it to her. 

She accepts it with a grateful nod, wiping her face with efficient swipes of the cloth. It comes away red and brown with blood and dirt. 

_ “ _ They’ve got a _ human _ weapon?” Steve squints, trying to imagine what exactly that would look like. “What does that even mean?” His mind flashes to Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee. 

“It means Hydra is extremely dangerous, and I shouldn’t even be_ talking_ about this with you--”

“You haven’t told me anything specific,” Steve argues, turning back to stir Natasha’s coffee. “Just get it off your chest, Nat. Not like I’m going to tell anyone, and you know from checking that my apartment isn’t bugged.” She had done a thorough walkthrough the last time she was in, and came away satisfied.

She lets out a long breath, but continues. “Literally speaking, this...weapon is human, yes.” Natasha clenches and unclenches her jaw, a sure tell that her mind was going a million miles a minute. “But he...he's not much of a person. He doesn’t have a name, so we can’t find him in any records. In all the files we’ve ever seen mention of him, he’s just referred to as _ soldier _ or _ the asset.” _

Then three things happen at once.

First, there is a rush of cold air so strong it brushes Steve’s hair back from his face, and the bathroom door down the hall slams shut.

Second, Steve spills burning hot coffee all over himself thanks to the shock of the loud noise, and hisses in pain as it scolds his already scraped knuckles. The mug falls to the ground and shatters into many small pieces. 

Thirdly, Steve hears Bucky’s frantic voice, getting louder as it comes towards him. Bucky sounds shaken and even a little afraid as he asks, “Stevie? You okay, Ace? Shit, doll, I’m so sorry--” 

Steve doesn’t answer, and tries hard not to think about Bucky calling him _ doll, _that honey-sweet voice in his ear, _worried, whispering, murmuring…_

Steve snaps out of it. He shoves his hand under the tap and runs the cold war, whipping around wildly to see if Natasha heard anything--if she reacted at all to Bucky.

Natasha has her gun out, pointed in the direction the cold breeze had come from, panting. “What the hell just happened. Is someone here, Steve?” 

Steve’s heart bounced unhappily in his chest. Had Nat heard Bucky speak? “Uh--n-no one. Must’ve left a window open. It does that sometimes. Cross breeze.” 

Nat didn’t look convinced. She doesn’t lower her gun, and her posture doesn’t relax. “What the hell is going on here, Steve? Why do you look so guilty?”

“You wouldn’t believe me,” Steve whispers, turning away from her again to bend down, carefully gathering the broken pieces of porcelain from the mug. He tries not to think about how Natasha would react if he told her that his apartment had been broken into and raided by an addict who had roughed him up. 

She’d probably kill him, then bring him back to life, then kill him again, and then get 24/7 security on his apartment. 

“I kill aliens for a living. I’ve played poker with literal gods. From space.” Steve can hear her slowly setting her gun down on the table and clicking the safety on. She doesn’t holster it again, obviously still shaken, but at least she was letting her guard down again, that was a good sign. “Try me, Rogers.” 

Steve shakes his head slowly and is surprised to find tears burning at his eyes as he gathers up the broken pieces of the mug, one by one, gathering them in his shaky palm. This was getting too real. Before, when it was just him and Bucky and the waning moon, it was easy to slip away. Steve lived in the fantasy and didn’t have to consider the consequences of gazing too long or too hard into Bucky’s eyes. 

But now, with Natasha, things felt too large and too real. 

“Can’t,” He says softly. “You’d seriously, really, think I’m crazy, Nat. And I don’t want you to think I’m crazy. I can’t have you thinking that.” 

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Nat’s voice is suddenly right behind him--Steve is surprised, she moves so quietly he hadn’t heard her stir, even though she was in pain--and she puts a hand on his shoulder blade as he stands up. “I would never think that. You can tell me, Steve. You can always tell me anything. You know that.” 

Steve _ did _know that, was the thing. There is a moment, a heartbeat, the space between one breath and the next, where Steve is about to tell her everything. It would be easy, he thinks, once he got the first few words out. It would be a relief. The weight of this secret would be lifted.

He opens his mouth to say something and their air stirs, just a little. It was so minute that it Steve didn’t _ know, _he wouldn’t think much of it. Just dancing dust particles, just a slight tremor to disrupt the stillness.

But Steve _did_ know. And he knew what it meant.

The hair on his arms raises, and he knows it's Bucky’s way of asking him to keep his secret. 

Steve clenches and unclenches his jaw, feeling the weight of Natasha’s gaze. Could Bucky ask him to lie to his friends? To Nat? Why would Bucky _ want _that? There were so many rumours circulating about the apartment anyway…

To some extent, Nat already knew. 

The fact that there was a ghost ‘haunting’ Steve’s apartment wasn’t the secret. Everyone in the area knew about it, including Steve’s friends, since they’d mocked him for it, believing it to be nothing more than a series of stories cooked up by tenants in the area to explain otherwise natural phenomena. 

It was the fact that Bucky was Bucky--that he talked and laughed and hung out with Steve that would change Natasha’s perceptions. That he was a soldier who fought in the 40s, a real person who loved and was loved. 

It was true that Nat had seen some wild things in her line of work, but she’d never mentioned real, legitimate ghosts. Steve wasn’t sure how she’d take it, and Bucky clearly had some hesitations about Steve telling her. 

His reaction to what Nat had said, though, didn’t make sense. It was such an aggressive one, clearly directly prompted by her talking about Hydra. He was itching to ask Bucky more, but with Nat around it would have to wait.

“I’ll tell you.” Steve says slowly, meeting Natasha’s gaze, which has since narrowed in suspicion again. She’s catching on to the shady way Steve’s been acting, and he won’t be able to fool her for much longer. “But not right now. Not today--but Nat, I _ will _tell you. I just need to figure out how.” 

Her head tilts in consideration, and she studies him, her red hair falling over her shoulder as she does so. They stare at each other for what feels like five long minutes, but must only be a few seconds. They’re both stubborn, set in their ways, and extremely protective. Steve knows she only wants the best for him.

Natasha finally sighs, breaking the silence first. “Whatever this is Steve…” she hesitates, as if trying to find a way to frame her sentence. “Whatever it is, you’re okay, right? Not...in any danger? Scared?” 

Steve immediately shakes his head. He wasn’t afraid of Bucky. Bucky...actually made him feel safe. The scariest thing that had happened in the apartment was the Junkie breaking in, and Steve didn’t think he needed to add the stress of that event to Natasha’s plate right now. Steve wasn’t sure what Natasha would do to him or the apartment if she found that out. 

Steve knew that Bucky would protect him. He protected him that night, and he’d do it again. He took care of Steve. 

“I’m more than okay, Nat. I’ve got this beautiful apartment...enough money for rent _ and _ food _ and _medication...and great friends,” He gives her a shy smile, “Quit worrying about me so much. You’re the one covered in blood.” 

She only rolls her eyes, but the worried look doesn’t leave. “Superficial wounds.” 

Steve dumps the porcelain pieces in the trash and wipes up the rest of the mess with a paper towel. 

He gets to making Nat another coffee, pointedly _without_ vodka, and tucks it into her hands as they migrate to the living room. Natasha folds herself up on the couch, and Steve feels a little honoured at how comfortable she is in his space. She trusts him, even after the weirdness that just happened in the kitchen, she’s able to ease back into their friendship. 

Steve folds himself up right beside her, the two of them barely taking up any room on the sofa, which seemed so large in comparison.

“So,” Steve begins softly, his finger tip tracing the rim of his mug absently. His hand didn’t hurt anymore from the hot coffee; the cold water had helped immensely. “You said the fight was pretty bad? Where are Sam and Clint? Were they there?” _ and are they hurt? _Rings in the back of Steve’s mind. He hadn’t heard of any public Avengers confrontations in the news, so he had a lot of questions. 

“They were there,” Nat says carefully. Steve can tell she is trying to frame her words in a way that doesn’t tell the full story, for Steve’s own safety. She’d snapped out her previous haze, then, and she was censoring herself more. “I got the worst of it. They were called in for backup, and by that time…” She waves a hand at herself. “I’ll heal, though. Always do.” 

She would, and she did. But that didn’t mean Steve much liked the idea of her--or any of his friends--being thrown into danger repeatedly. 

It made his stomach flip in uncomfortable ways. 

He was so small, compared to their abilities and problems. Just a blip on the radar, a grain of sand. Natasha went to work everyday and saved the world from imminent destruction. Without her, or any of the Avengers, the world might literally not exist. If Nat disappeared, things would collapse. Buildings. Political systems. Universes. 

Steve, though. If Steve disappeared, a handful of people would grieve him--one of which was a ghost--and the world wouldn’t hiccup. The traffic lights would still change from green, to yellow, to red, and the planets would dance around each other the same as they always had. He would fade away gently into the night, and that would be that.

He really was quite insignificant. The thought didn’t bother him as much as it maybe should--he had good people. He’d found his family. That’s more than 21 year old Steve ever thought possible. And he was _ happy. _

“So this weapon…” Steve trails off, eyebrows raised in curiosity. He wasn’t sure how much Natasha would spill, but she’d already said more than usual. 

Natasha waves a hand in dismissal at him, tucking a piece of red hair behind her ear. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve already said too much. Didn’t mean to just,” she shakes her head dismissively. “Unload on you. I just needed to vent. I’m frustrated.” Her jaw works, clenching and unclenching. It was a nervous habit of hers that Steve had picked up on. “Hydra is getting stronger and we’re not going to be able to keep up if we’re not careful.” 

Steve just hums in reply. He wasn’t frustrated with the lack of information--it was typical--but he was curious. The sharp way Bucky had reacted to Natasha’s words irked Steve.

There had to be more to the story. Bucky didn’t have a temper, from what Steve had seen of him so far, but when Peggy had mentioned him falling, he’d reacted in a similar way. 

Perhaps Bucky had a connection to Hydra. Steve wasn’t a history buff, but he knows that Hydra was pretty active during the Second World War. Bucky might have some unpleasant memories, which would make sense. A bad run in or two would be enough to send chills down anyones spine, with the stories Steve heard about the Nazi organization. 

“You’ll figure it out,” Steve says soothingly, offering her a reassuring smile. “You always do.” 

Nat shakes her head slowly, and her eyes get very far away and sad, kind of like Bucky’s when Steve asked him about his past. 

“I don’t know about this time, Steve. I really don’t. Things are not looking too promising. I think we’re in trouble.” She lets the silence between them sit for a long time, sipping her coffee. 

There is a tremble in her voice, though it’s so slight Steve never would have been able to detect it if he didn’t know her well. “I’m scared,” she breathes finally, and then curls in on herself even more. 

Her fear tugs on Steve’s heart. To hear Nat sound so vulnerable was a curse and a privilege; if Natalia Romanova was scared, then the world should be on its knees, trembling. Whatever they were up against, it had to be bad. 

Steve doesn’t know any words or lies or lullabies that would make that sadness go out of her gaze, so he just rests his head on her shoulder and closes his eyes, hoping his presence could offer some form of comfort. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

When Natasha leaves, she hugs him tightly, for a long time. Steve thinks it must hurt her to squeeze him like that in her strong arms--it certainly makes his own ribs ache--but she doesn’t wince. She kisses his forehead in a motherly fashion and tells him to get some rest. 

Steve closes and locks the door behind him. As soon as he turns around to walk down the hallway, Bucky is standing there, eyebrows drawn up tight, worry on his handsome face. 

Steve jumps about a foot in the air, startled, though he knows he shouldn’t be by now. “Jesus, Buck. Give a guy some warning,” Steve mutters, a hand clutching his heart like a scandalized southern bell. 

Bucky holds his hands up in surrender, his eyebrows drawing even further in, face scrunching up. “Sorry, Stevie. You okay? Your hand--” Bucky reaches out to see Steve’s hands, and Steve shoves them behind his back. 

“What the hell _ was _ that?” Steve demands, suddenly getting angry. He’s not sure where the anger is from but it’s there, bubbling to the surface, white-hot and plentiful. “You know--Nat is a Russian _ spy. _ She picks up on things. It’s her _ job to notice things. _So when you go all Danny-Phantom on me, she notices that. And I’m not going to be able to hide it for long.” 

Bucky clenches his jaw. “Something she said..” he trailed off, looking away. “I don’t know. Startled me.” 

“Well can you not get startled, like, quieter, or something?” Steve throws his hands up in the air and feels very childish doing so. He was throwing a tantrum, and he knew it. “Nat is one of my best friends. I don’t like lying to her. And I don’t understand why you _want _me to lie. S’not like no one knows about you--there are rumors.”

Bucky doesn’t answer. He takes a step back from Steve, looking like a hurt puppy. “Steve--”

“No.” Steve says, storming past him. The frustration was boiling under his skin. “I’m done. I want to be alone tonight.” 

“C’mon, doll, don’t get all sore at me, I’m--”

Steve wheels on him, face bright red. “Stop calling me that!” He cries. “I’m...not your doll. I’m not your _anything _ . This...this is getting too weird for me, okay? This stuff with Nat, and last night, in my room…” Steve’s heart starts to race at the memory, the _ closeness, _the mingling of their souls. He couldn’t let it go on, he was going to fall for Bucky, they both knew it, and he was going to get his heartbroken. 

Falling in love with a ghost couldn’t come with a_ happily ever after, _Steve knew, and he had to protect his heart. 

“I can’t hide this from my friends, I can’t lie to them, and I can’t tell them the truth because they’ll think I’m bat-shit crazy! So I just need some time to think. I need space, maybe for a while.” Steve didn’t know where that last part came from, but it was something dark in him that reared its ugly head when Steve’s temper did, wanting to stoop low and _ hurt _ rather than come to a sane conclusion. “I didn’t sign up for this,” Steve shakes his head aggressively. He can't make the cruel words stop. “I did _ not _sign up for this. It’s too much.” 

He didn’t want Bucky to make his heart race, or confuse his head. He didn’t want to lie to his friends. He hated the way he looked forward to coming home to see Bucky, hated how delighted he was when Bucky laughed. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t normal. It was going to ruin him.

Bucky’s eyes are large, and blue, and very sad. Steve had hurt him, it was written all over his face. 

“Don’t leave,” He says, and his voice cracks a little. “Stevie, M’sorry, I’ll stay away when people are over, I’ll give you time, just.” Steve can see now, his eyes are watering. Steve learns that night that ghosts can cry. “Please don’t leave the apartment. You don’t hafta go.” 

And Steve knows why Bucky is afraid. He’s afraid of the silence, the devastation of being your only company, of living with the dusty walls and curtains that don’t open to the sunlight and the years and years of emptiness and memories and cobwebs. 

Steve feels terrible instantly. After all, it wasn’t Bucky’s fault that Steve’s heart didn’t know how chill the fuck out. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault that his voice had such a strong effect on Steve.

Steve didn’t want to fall in love, but that didn’t mean he had to push Bucky away, either. Not after Bucky had been alone for so long.

Bucky, standing there before him, a man who’d been lonely and angry for years before anyone could hear him, who watched life happen from the shadows and couldn’t find peace or rest or company in all his lonely days. 

_Bucky_, who saved Steve from an intruder, who got his inhaler and talked him through a panic attack. 

Bucky, who played soft jazz and almost--_ almost-- _held Steve close under the bright moon of the New York sky. 

If not for all the years between Steve’s first breath and Bucky’s last, they may have been something amazing. 

Steve shuffles closer to Bucky and stops a few inches away from him, wishing more than anything he could take the man into his arms and rub his back, knot his fingers in his hair, feel him solid and real beneath his fingertips. 

“Hey,” Steve says, craning his neck to meet Bucky’s eyes. The wetness in Bucky’s eyes makes their pale colour glow in the room. “Hey, s’okay, Buck. I’m...I’m sorry. I’m not leaving. I wouldn’t just do that to you, no matter how mad I get at you, okay? I’m not going to be moving out anytime soon. Just lost my temper. I’m sorry.” 

Bucky clenches his jaw as a tear falls, and he wipes it away angrily like it had betrayed him by escaping, answering the question Steve hadn’t asked.

He stares at the ground, clearly embarrassed at his own reaction. His hands curled into fists at his side, but Steve knows the frustration is directed at himself rather than at Steve. There is nothing malicious or angry about the man standing before him, just something sad and lost and scared of being left behind. 

Steve supposes times were quite different when Bucky was alive. Men who showed emotion were weak, were considered less of a man for it. It must not come easily to Bucky, to show this much expression, especially to another man. 

“S’okay to cry,” Steve says, very gently, not sure what else to say. “I do it all the time, y’know? I’m a big ol’ cry baby. At least you still look handsome when you cry. I just look like a blubbering idiot.” 

Bucky cracks a small smile for that one, but his eyes are still damp when he looks back at Steve. His lashes are thick and wet, clumping together to make his round eyes seem impossibly larger. Not for the first time, Bucky’s beauty makes Steve’s chest ache. 

“You’re my friend, Steve. Only friend I’ve had in a long, long time.” 

“I know,” Steve whispers sincerely, his chest constricting in pain for Bucky. “You’re my friend, too, Buck. It’s just...hard. Trying to keep this secret from my other friends. This isn’t a…conventional friendship. I’m trying, though. And I’m learning.” 

Bucky nods slowly, and Steve guesses that he probably gets where Steve is coming from. 

“I’m going to tell them eventually. Sooner rather than later,” Steve warns, his voice soft and barely audible. “I have to, Buck. If I’m going to stick around, I can’t lie to them. Natasha means the world to me, and if she thinks I’m hiding something, it won’t end well, believe me.” He offers a smile to soften the blow of his words, hoping nothing he said was going to be taken the wrong way. 

“Natasha is amazing, but she’s intense, y’know? When she gets a hunch about something, you just gotta accept defeat and-and...stand down.” 

Bucky’s eyes flash up to Steve’s for a brief moment, and Steve sees the immense confusion and hurt on his face, as if he’d just remembered something painful

Suddenly, all the emotion fades from his expression and his face falls blank, his eyes going lifeless and void. His lips part slightly, but he says nothing. Bucky blinks a few times, fast, and then his eyes stay open, glassy in the light. 

It was perhaps the most dead Bucky has ever looked, standing in Steve’s apartment with his lifeless face, his cloudy eyes.

This is not the warm, dorky man Steve had come to know, the man who tried to teach him how to dance and put together IKEA furniture and called Steve _ doll. _There is nothing familiar about the blankness in Bucky’s eyes; his face was always so expressive, so ironically _alive. _

This person is a stranger.

His image flickers like a TV with bad reception in the same way it had when Steve had first seen Bucky materialize, and then he disappears into thin air. 

Steve takes a step forward. “Bucky?” He calls, confused. Where had he gone? "Buck?"

Bucky had never disappeared on him like that in the middle of a conversation--Steve didn’t understand. They weren’t fighting, they were just coming to an understanding, Bucky had seemed like he understood where Steve was coming from, until his entire demeanour changed. 

Something had _ happened _to Bucky--he’d been reacting in some way to Steve’s words, or maybe a memory, or…it had to be _something, _Steve knew.

“Buck? You there?” He waves his hand in the spot where Bucky once stood but the air is only slightly cooler, the whisper of Bucky still there but the whole of him missing. 

Steve sags against the nearest wall and sinks down to the floor. He didn’t like fighting with Bucky, but the guy didn’t make it very easy to have a conversation if he was just going to flash way anytime the argument wasn’t going his way. 

Steve waits for Bucky to return, sitting in the same spot and straining his ears to listen for the moaning floorboards, a closing door, trying to feel a cool breeze--but there was nothing.

For the first time since Steve moved in, there was an empty, dead menace to the apartment that made every cell in Steve’s body feel explicitly unwelcome and entirely alone. 

\-------------------------------

Bucky appears later, when the moon is high and Steve is sipping a cup of herbal tea in bed, sketching the profile of Bucky’s face from memory in the low light of his bedroom lamp. His laptop is playing soft acoustic music, low enough that it’s just a gentle hum hanging around in the background of the evening. He'd needed some kind of sound to drown out the loneliness he felt.

Steve is wearing a large t-shirt he was pretty sure belonged to Sam, one he’d stolen a while ago when they lived together. It came down almost to his knees when he stood up, but it was soft and worn-in, which is why Steve loved it. 

Bucky clears his throat and Steve looks up, not so much startled as drawn out of his artist's trance slowly, like a feather being plucked from water and blown dry by the breeze. 

“Buck,” Steve says blankly, blinking at him. It takes a few moments for Steve to make the connection between Bucky standing there before him and the sketch laid out in front of him. Guiltily, Steve stumbles to hide the sketch and looks up at Bucky, waiting. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says slowly. He looks very uncomfortable, weight shifting from foot to foot anxiously, never fully still. Steve is glad to see that there is life in his face and body again--the blankness he’d seen earlier that day still haunted him. It made Bucky’s familiar face deeply unrecognizable. 

“For?” Steve adjusts his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose, brows rising in anticipation. He waits patiently. 

Bucky sights like a petulant child. “For disappearing. When we were talking. I didn’t mean to...disappear.” 

“What happened?” Steve curls his legs into his chest, wrapping his arms around them and resting his chin on his knees. His spine enjoys the stretch but his bones protest a little. Steve feels very small in Sam’s shirt and in his own bed, curled up like this. He was small compared to the tension in the room, and the intensity of Bucky’s gaze, small compared to the gravity of their situation. Things they both felt for each other hung around the room and hid in all the cracks in the wall, not daring to show themselves...but their presence still weighed on Steve. “It’s not like you to be like that, Buck. You scared me; you weren’t acting like yourself.” 

Bucky's jaw clenches. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“Was it something I said?” Steve prompts, noticing that Bucky was avoiding the question.

Bucky looks away, and shifts uncomfortably, looking like he really didn’t want to answer that question. He stays silent for so long that Steve gets frustrated. 

“Fine,” Steve says curtly. “You don’t have to explain your mood swings to me this time. But if we’re going to be friends you’ve gotta be honest with me from here on out. I don’t want drama; I want honesty. You can’t just decide when you’re going to be okay with me and when you’re going to have a fit about something I say, especially if you won’t tell me what’s bugging you.” 

“I can do that.” Bucky promises, his voice a little desperate. “Stevie--you. You mean a lot to me, and I know we haven’t known each other for very long at all..” which was an understatement, especially in ghost years, if those were a thing, “But you make me _ happy. _Something I ain’t been in years. I don’t take that lightly. I hope you understand that.” 

“You make me happy too, Buck,” Steve says quietly, a small smile pulling at his face, despite the unease he still felt. 

“Good. M’glad. That’s all I wanna do,” Bucky says, and there is something so raw and honest in his voice it makes Steve a little uncomfortable, like he was suddenly put into a spotlight of those pale eyes. 

He clears his throat to get rid of the feeling, but it lingers, and he feels a blush creep onto his cheeks, giving him away. 

“You look real beautiful, blushin’ like that. Maybe I should compliment you more often,” Bucky says. There is nothing malicious or teasing in his voice--just a wonderful sort of honesty that in turn makes Steve’s face even hotter. 

“Maybe you oughta stop flirtin’ with the landlord. It’s unbecoming.” 

“Landlord.” Bucky scoffs. 

“We do need to talk about something,” Steve begins, desperately trying to change the subject. “Your reaction, when Nat mentioned, uh,” Steve wracks his brain for the exact terminology that Nat used, “The asset? What was that about? You seemed pretty upset.” 

Steve had a vague suspicion that the way Bucky reacted earlier when Nat was over may have something to do with him shutting down during their conversation. 

Bucky was deeply disturbed by his past, anytime it was brought up his demeanour changed, Steve just wasn’t sure what kind of connection their conversation or Nat’s comments has with Bucky’s past. 

Bucky’s face shuts down, going terrifyingly blank and emotionless. Like a robot. Like before, when Steve had mentioned telling Natasha. Bucky had been fine until Steve had said something about _ standing down. _

There were a lot of pieces to the puzzle that was Bucky Barnes, and Steve hadn’t quite figured them out yet. 

“I’m not sure,” Bucky replies, and Steve was just about to give him an earful on how he was tired of hearing _ I don’t know, _ when he looked up to Bucky’s face and stopped dead.

Bucky looked lost, trapped in a memory of another life before he became the whisper of a man. His face was screwed up in pain, immense pain, before it fell again and he looked desperately confused. 

It was as though a memory reel was playing right before his eyes, only Steve couldn’t see it, he could only see the hurt that it caused Bucky. 

“I--” Bucky begins, and then stops short. He doesn’t look back up at Steve, but his eyes dart behind him and he spins like something spooked him. “What..?” 

“Bucky,” Steve says gently, worried about Bucky’s sanity and knowing how powerful he could be. If Bucky decided to lash out, or had a flashback that made him become violent, Bucky was powerful enough to do some real damage to Steve and the apartment, whether it was on purpose or not. 

“Let’s just...breathe. We don’t need to worry about the past right now. You’re here, with me, so let’s just worry about--”

Bucky is still looking around him, like he doesn’t see Steve or didn’t hear him speak at all. 

“Hello?” Bucky calls, cutting Steve off like he hadn’t spoken. His voice was much too loudly for Steve to be standing right beside him. “Steve? Anyone? Are you there? Stevie?” 

“I’m right here!” Steve replies, waving his arms. But Bucky’s eyes pass right over him and he doesn’t react. Steve can see his panic building in Bucky’s body, his shoulders drawing up and his hands curling into fists. 

“No,” Bucky whispers, “No, _no, no_,” he mutters something in Russian and runs his hands through his hair, eyes wild and darting all over, never resting on one place for long. “_ Steve!” _

Steve acts on instinct, throwing the sketchbook and tea aside, he rushes towards Bucky in the hopes that he will get his attention somehow, snap him out of whatever he was going through--some sort of PTSD flashback or what, Steve didn’t know--and he reaches a hand out to be right in front of Bucky’s face, directly interrupting his line of sight.

Except when Bucky turns his head sharply, it connects with Steve’s hand, Bucky’s cheek pressing into his palm.

_ Bucky’s cheek connects with Steve’s hand. _

Steve feels him, solid and real and _ warm, _feels the scratch of his stubble and the texture of his skin, the heat of him radiating.

Steve freezes, too shocked to move or react in any way except for a faint whisper, “_H-Holy shit._” 

He brings his other hand up slowly, as if moving too fast would disrupt whatever frail thing they had. 

Gently, as though Bucky were made of the finest, most fragile crystal in the world, Steve cups Bucky’s face in both of his hands, forcing himself to see that this was _ real. _

Steve lets out a long breath he didn’t know he had been holding, and rubs his thumb across Bucky’s cheekbone, feeling the angle of it, the press of his skin against bone and the warmth it radiated. “Oh, my god,” he whispers. “_Ohmygod_.” 

Steve’s eyes are as wide as saucers, looking up at Bucky like the sky had just begun falling around them. It feels like it has. Bucky blinks down at Steve fast, as if being pulled back by Steve’s touch, like the physical contact had startled out of whatever memory he had just been pulled into. 

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs, and there is something in his voice that makes Steve’s insides turn to jelly. It feels like coming home after a long, unsavoury trip. Bucky’s eyes are alive again, present in the room with Steve. 

Once Bucky realizes Steve is right in front of him he seems to relax a little, tension melting out of his shoulders. Steve presses his hand harder into Bucky’s cheek, and Bucky leans his face into it almost subconsciously. 

“I”m here,” Steve tells him, voice barely above a whisper, his eyes watering with the shock of being able to _ touch _Bucky. “I’m right here, you’re safe, Buck. I’ve got you.” It was the same thing Bucky had told Steve when he protected him from Junkie. 

Perhaps they needed each other. 

They stay like that for a few moments, staring at each other with wonder and confusion and _ hope, _ dangerous, poisonous hope _ , _ skin on skin, their pulses thrumming together. Bucky’s heartbeat rattling through his body, telling Steve and the world and all of his organs that he was _ alive. _

“You’re touching me,” Bucky whispers dumbly, a few seconds later. His red lips were parted in shock. “You’re touching me, Steve. I feel you.” 

Steve isn’t sure what to say, isn’t sure he can say anything in the moment, afraid that if they talk about it the illusion will shatter. 

Bucky brings his own hand up to place over Steve’s, and Steve lets his forehead fall forward, resting against Bucky’s chest, too tired to hold it up on his own and not seeing a reason to anymore. His entire body is trembling.

Bucky’s other arm wraps around Steve’s slender waist, pulling him in tight against Bucky’s body. It would’ve been on the edge of painful if it wasn’t so wonderful, pressed between the hard lines of Bucky's chest and the strong vise of his arms.

Those hands could keep Steve safe, they could comfort him. He wouldn’t have to worry anymore. 

He felt _safe_. At home. This was natural, this was the way the world was _ meant _to be, with Steve in Bucky’s arms. They didn’t have to fight what they felt, they could slow dance into the early hours of the morning and it wouldn’t be complicated at all. 

All of the aversions, the fear that he’d had before about letting himself fall into whatever he felt for Bucky vanished. They could _ have _this. It could be as easy as breathing. He didn't want to ask questions. If this was his gift horse, he would only accept it and be thankful.

He hears that wonderful heartbeat. He feels the calloused fingers of Bucky’s hand covering his, feels their strength even in the stillness, how all-encompassing they are when compared to his own, Bucky’s palm dwarfing Steve’s. This was _real. _

“I’m touching you,” Steve echoes. Steve can smell Bucky--it’s an earthy, spicy smell that makes Steve lean harder into him, nuzzling into Bucky’s broad chest--a smell that reminds Steve of cigars and spice and winter. It's exactly what he imagined Bucky would smell like. “You’re really here, Buck.” 

“You’re so _ small,” _Bucky laughs a little, burying his nose in Steve’s hair. Normally, if it was anyone else, Steve would roll his eyes and complain, maybe punch them in the arm lightly. 

But Steve doesn’t care. Bucky pointing out his size didn’t feel like an insult, it felt like Bucky was making a wondrous discovery about Steve, learning his body in a way he had never before been able to. 

Bucky didn’t feel small. He felt large, and _real._ As he held Steve tightly, Steve felt the strength in his arms, the muscle that trembled beneath skin.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Steve whispers, stretching up on his tippy toes, wanting to get closer to the soft pillow of Bucky's lips. Bucky looked down at him with awe, and something warmer that Steve couldn’t quite decipher. There was something else, too--something scared, perhaps--but Steve refused to read into it. He refused to let this moment be tinged with anything other that awe and joy. 

Later, much later, these moments would keep him warm through the lonely winter. 

“Kiss me?” Steve breathes, their lips just centimeters apart. It was exactly how they’d been last night, only this time, there was nothing to be afraid of. There was no tension, no fear of a broken heart. There was Bucky’s lips, red and _ so close, _and Steve wanted to feel them move against his own. 

Bucky leans down ever so slightly, and closes his eyes. Steve mirrors him, parting his lips and waiting, just waiting, for that moment when they finally connected--

But it doesn’t come. 

He opens his eyes again to see Bucky has pulled back slightly, eyes wide and panicked.

“No,” Bucky says, and the blissed out tone that had previously been there was gone, replaced by fear. His fingers tighten over Steve's, as if trying to hold on desperately, his arm constricting tighter around him. “N-No--I’m being pulled, Steve, I--” 

“Wait, _no,_ Buck--” Steve begins to say, when he suddenly stumbles forward into empty air. The warmth of Bucky vanishes in the blink of an eye, and so does his image. 

Just like that. Gone. 

He breathes out hard, mind reeling. His eyes scan the room desperately, but Bucky wasn’t there.

He _ knew _ he’d felt Bucky, that wasn’t a dream, or a hallucination, or anything else. It was _ real. _He had breathed him in, felt him, seen him there, like he never had before. His fingertips still tingled with the texture of Bucky’s stubble. 

_And now he was gone. _

“Buck?” Steve calls, blinking fast. He stretches his arms out in front of him, trying to feel the whisper of cool air that would let him know Bucky was still _ around, _just not visible. 

He would take that. Even if those moments were all they got, he’d be happy if Bucky could just stay. 

But there was something different about the apartment, a shift in energy that told Steve Bucky wasn’t just in a different area of the apartment, wasn’t just hiding...he was gone.

Maybe for good. 

Whatever had just happened, something had changed. 

Steve’s arms were empty, and so was the apartment.

__ 

Steve paints for the rest of the evening. He is a machine, finishing up two commissions a few days earlier than their deadline. When he is satisfied with them, he lays them out to dry and turns back to the sketch of Bucky he’d been working on earlier. He waits for Bucky to come back. He will wait as long as he must. He'd wait forever. 

Bucky _ will _come back. He did last time. He would again. He had to. 

He traces the bow of Bucky’s lips on the page with his finger, the sharp edge of his jaw, remembering how the real thing had felt under his hands, the rough texture of his stubble. It was almost right, the portrait. It was almost..perfect. 

Steve had memorized Bucky's face so exactly, saw it every time he closed his eyes; he just couldn’t get the eyes. 

Bucky’s eyes were so expressive. At any given time, they could be happy, sad, grumpy and far away all at once, and Steve had to get it just right. He couldn’t forget.

He had to do this now, while the memory of Bucky was still fresh behind his eyelids. 

_He didn’t ever want to forget._

He picks up his pencil and begins to fix the arch of Bucky’s brow, and tries not to think about Bucky’s hands on him, or the terrified look on Bucky's face right before he vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys haven't noticed, each title is named after a song that reminds me of stucky/this fic! This chapter's song is "Feel Something" by Jaymes Young. I think it works really well for this chappie, give it a listen!!
> 
> As always, thank you a million times for reading, and you KNOW your comments make my whole day <3 Please comment and tell me what you're thinking so far!!


	6. Everywhere I Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Это солдат.” Nat murmurs in Russian, voice slow and surprised. “Yes. Tell Tony I was right. It’s him.” 
> 
> “Very good, ma’am. I’ll let Mr. Stark know.” 
> 
> The screen disappears. JARVIS does not say anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chappie :) more coming your way next week! Things are really getting exciting!
> 
> See the end of chapter notes for translations :)

_ "Danger will follow me now  
Everywhere I go  
Angels will call on me  
And take me to my home  
Well, this tired mind just wants to be led home" _

_ \- "Everywhere I Go", Sleeping At Last _

* * *

When his alarm goes off the next morning for his classes at the VA office, Steve is groggy and bleary eyed. He was normally a morning person, but he hadn’t slept at all last night, haunted by theories and ideas of where Bucky had gone and what had happened in those few moments before he’d vanished completely. 

He rolls out of bed with little grace and hauls on slim fit jeans and a cozy sweater, throwing on his glasses instead of contacts for the sheer convenience of it. 

Steve makes an herbal tea in a travel mug for the subway. The kettle isn’t turned on and waiting for him, hot, and there is no handsome soldier waiting in the kitchen to tell him in detail how loud he snored that night. 

The walls ached with the absence of Bucky.

Steve pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind, and is out the door in less than 10 minutes. 

The outside world is somewhere that seems unfamiliar to Steve now. When he steps outside it’s a harsh reality, one that he had been protected him in the haven of his apartment.

He’d been locked inside his little home for what felt like forever, the cold air of New York streets nipped and growled at his skin; he wasn’t dressed for the cold and he wasn’t ready to face the fact that his life had lost a little bit--or a lot--of magic. 

Sam was going to rip him a new one for it, too, Steve knew, and not to mention he’d probably get sick, which was just about the last thing he needed at this point.

His day was admittedly not off to a good start. 

The train ride is packed with commuters and smells faintly of sweat and french fries, but is otherwise uneventful, no more or less pleasant than any other time Steve has ridden into work.

He keeps his headphones in and his head down, listening to his music and trying very hard not to think about anything to do with James Buchanan Barnes.

Steve arrives at the VA office with time to spare before his class begins, it being only a short walk from the subway stop. 

He hikes his bag up a little higher on his shoulder and pushes the door open, breathing a sigh of relief at the warm air that encompasses him immediately, feeling the contrast between it and the cold tip of his nose. 

Sam is waiting expectantly at the front desk, arms folded and eyebrows raised. _Typical_.

“Rogers,” He greets suspiciously. “I see you’re dressed for the weather, as always.” The sarcasm in his tone was thicker than Sam’s thighs. He points a sharp finger at Steve. “If you catch a cold, you owe me a coffee.” 

Steve squints at him, looking for any obvious injuries or new scars and ignoring the snide comment. Nat had been pretty banged up, and she’d mentioned that Sam and Clint came in for backup on that particular mission, but Steve can’t find anything even after adjusting his glasses, which had since fogged up from coming inside to warm air after being out in the cold.

“Wilson,” Steve nods, equally suspicious as he squints at his friend. “I heard what happened.” 

There is no one else around, Steve checked, but Sam darts his eyes around anyway, to make sure. 

“Nat’s fine,” Sam reassures him. He drops the act of suspicion and his face falls a little; Steve can see the stress lines that are beginning to catch up with him, which only makes sense given his job. “She got caught up in a bad situation, Clint and I...we were a little too late.” 

Steve just takes a few steps closer, his eyes serious. He knew Sam would be hard on himself about Nat getting hurt, and if Steve were in the same situation, he would be, too. 

He knows words won’t console Sam any more than a slap in the face would. He bumps their shoulders together and gives Sam a small, sad smile, which Sam returns. 

“Yeah,” Sam murmurs, though Steve hadn’t said anything. “I know.” 

“She said something big is happening,” Steve says softly, though there was no one else around. “Something about Hydra, and….a human weapon. You guys must be busy; I wasn’t expecting to see you in here today.” 

Sam’s eyes narrow down into slits. “She talked to you about the mission?” 

Steve only rolls his eyes, adjusting his glasses as they slip a little down his nose. “Oh, please.” He huffs. “Like you’ve never slipped and told me more than you ought to.” 

They both knew Steve was right, but that dangerous worry never left Sam’s face. “Steve, Nat was right. This is big stuff. You--you’re not supposed to know anything for your own _ safety, _it’s not because we don’t trust you.” 

Steve had heard it all before, and Sam knew it. “I know that, Sam. I’m not asking because I’m trying to be nosey.”

“It’s already bad enough we all hang out with you and go to your apartment, and...look. We’re just lucky that nothing has happened to you so far. We’re playing with fire just by being friends.” Sam’s eyes are dark and clouded, heavy with the unspoken things he imagined were possible--even likely--to happen to Steve as a direct result for being friends with him, Clint and Natasha. 

“I know what I signed up for,” Steve lifts his chin proudly. It was _ really _ too early to be having this righteous of a conversation, but Steve hated that look on Sam’s face. “I fully consent to the danger I’m in to have you guys come over and eat a shit ton of food and gossip and get drunk, okay? I get it. Blah, blah, blah, I ain't afraid of no bullies, no matter how big or bad they are._” _Steve waves his hand dismissively and catches a glimpse of the clock above Sam’s head. 

His class started in ten minutes, and he still had to set up the room and get organized.

“Look, we’ll talk about what I know later. I gotta run.” Steve grabs his tea and turns on his heel to head in the direction of his class. 

Steve can feel Sam’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t say anything more. 

\---------

Steve’s class goes well, if uneventfully. No one has a panic attack, and the vets are getting pretty good at becoming comfortable with Steve and each other; it’s a peaceful two hours where Steve is able to focus on the task at hand, rather than worrying about Bucky.

It was the fourth class this group has had together and Steve’s heart warmed to see that some of the vets who had walked in alone on the first class three weeks ago walked out of today’s class with a friend or two, discussing plans to get coffee or meet up later on in the week. 

Steve felt honoured that he had something, even if it was very little, to do with some of the vets breathing a little easier after his class. 

Steve doesn’t see Sam on his way out; Sam runs a group therapy session around that time so Steve typically misses him, but he does give a small wave to reception on his way out, and catches the next subway train back to his apartment.

He lets his mind wander just a bit, on the ride back to his apartment. There was a sinking feeling in Steve’s chest, a kind of finality that told him Bucky wasn’t going to be there when he got back.

Something had changed between them. Shifted. Steve had _ touched _ Bucky, and Bucky had disappeared...after freaking out about Steve mentioning _the asset, _ and when he said _ stand down. _He didn’t have a link between those phrases yet, but Steve knew he wasn’t going to be able to stop obsessing until he knew everything. 

His mind kept going over what Natasha had talked about. Hydra having a _ human weapon. _Someone that was highly trained and dangerous...why did that concept spook Bucky so thoroughly? 

And what happened when Bucky couldn’t see him? Was it a flashback, or something else entirely? 

When Steve blinks himself out of the maze of questions floating around his mind, he finds himself halfway up the stairs to his apartment with little memory of how he got there--he’d tuned out so completely. 

He trudges up the last few steps and unlocks his apartment, stepping inside to feel its emptiness encompass him once again. He knew, without calling out for him, that Bucky still wasn’t here. 

Steve had to face the possibility that Bucky had...moved on. Maybe he’d completed whatever was holding him back from the afterlife and had moved on, across the veil or--wherever. Somewhere lovely, maybe.

Steve may never see him again.

Steve hangs up his coat and kicks off his shoes with stiff, robotic movements. He drops his bag by the door and locks it again behind him with a swift flick of his wrist, that feels final. 

The sound of the lock clicking into place echoes in a deafening way throughout the hallways of the newly-silent apartment.

There is no life in the walls, no hint of promise in the air. The apartment is lonely in a way it hadn’t been when Bucky was around, even before Steve realized he was there. 

There is an unsafe element to the place, now. It feels unfamiliar like he’s suddenly living in a stranger’s home or a hotel. There is an alien quality lingering in the space around him that makes Steve bones shudder with the loss of the magic that had once been. 

_ He might never see Bucky again. _

Steve finds his sketchbook and sinks down into the couch, ignoring all responsibility in favour of tracing the lines on the paper with his finger, the curve of Bucky’s brow and the hair falling a little into his face. 

He couldn't ever let himself forget.

The sketch wasn’t finished, and Steve drew desperately, wanting to make sure he didn’t miss any detail, didn’t forget anything about Bucky’s face. His hand was quick against the page, trying to get everything down on paper before it slipped through his fingers like mist, like water--

Like Bucky had slipped away. 

Steve closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the paper, as if he could manifest Bucky into being again just by recalling the sensation of skin against skin, Bucky’s warm scent filling Steve’s nostrils. 

There was something so still and so safe about that moment, the wonder and the hope that had rushed through Steve’s veins had been like opening up a brand new set of paints on a new canvas, like taking a breath of fresh autumn air, or kissing a lover for the first time--

No. Steve had to stop. He was making them out to be something greater than they were--they were hardly more than strangers. 

If Steve had felt anything towards Bucky, it was misguided and misplaced affection simply because Bucky was mysterious and attractive, and Steve had a type. That's all.

It may not have been love. Steve had never been in love before, so he couldn’t tell if the fluttering feeling in his chest was love or fear of losing someone. He didn’t know if they were the same. 

What he did know, is that his heart was lonely, the other half of it not in this room, not in this apartment. This loneliness was something Steve wasn’t used to, he hadn’t been walking through his whole life feeling this way, and he certainly didn’t feel it when Bucky was around. 

Now, though, in the quiet space of his apartment, Steve’s soul called out for its other half to an unforgiving sky, even as he denied the very idea of Bucky as _his_.

Steve pulls away from the sketch and places the book gingerly on his night stand, pulling the covers up to his chin and staring out the window at the New York nightlife. 

“Miss you,” He told the moon, and closed his eyes in preparation of an undoubtedly sleepless night. 

\------------------------

For the next week and three days, Steve was hollow. 

He got up, he went to work, he came home, worked on a few commissions, ate some bland excuse for dinner, and fell into bed. Wash, rinse, repeat. 

The days where he didn’t have classes were unbearable. He took long baths that left his skin red and splotchy, he painted without passion, he drowned himself in his work.

The apartment was an unfamiliar and empty place, and he dreaded the silence. 

He kept the radio on constantly, turns it up loud enough that it drowns out any time there is a creak in the hardwood or a rattling window. It kept giving him false hope that Bucky was back. 

But Steve was pretty sure that wherever Bucky had gone, he wasn’t coming back. 

On the tenth day, as he’s coming home from work, Steve hesitates with his fingers on the door knob of his apartment, dread filling his stomach at the thought of stepping into the silence yet again after a difficult day at the VA. Steve was tired, he didn't want to be hit with that hopeless feeling again. 

Instead, he takes a few steps across the hall, and after a little hesitation, knocks on Peggy’s door.

She answers after a few minutes; probably the time it took her to make it to the door. She looks surprised, but pleasantly so. Her white hair is, as it has been anytime Steve has seen her, done in neat pin-curls against her lovely face. She gives him a kind smile. 

“Steven,” She greets him, her lilted accent making everything she said sound more interesting than it had any right to be. She blinks her lovely eyes at him. “Is everything okay? You look flustered, dear.” 

“It’s not okay,” Steve murmurs, feeling his eyes suddenly burning with tears that he struggles to fight back. “Ma’am, if you have the time to spare, I’d like to talk; I have some questions about James. May I come in?” 

***

Peggy pushes the tea cup towards him with her gentle fingers, shaking her head slowly. 

“No, dear I’m sorry. I’m not sure why those phrases would upset him so much.” She takes a sip of her own tea and takes a seat across from him at her modest dining room table. “You said it was _ stand down, _ and _ asset _that got a response from him, correct?”

“That’s right,” Steve nods enthusiastically, praying to whatever silent God there was that Peggy would have _ something _that would help him figure out more about Bucky, about where he’d gone, or something that would explain the strange ways he was acting in the moments before he disappeared. He couldn’t just let the questions sit--the curiosity was going to eat him alive. 

“Once I said those words, he completely changed. It was like he became a stranger. His face got all blank and he wouldn’t speak to me, or blink, or do anything. He wasn’t himself.” 

Peggy sighs helplessly, letting her frail shoulders rise and fall. “I can’t think of any reason why he’d get so upset about that. I’m not sure why a few words would have such a strong effect on him.” 

Steve’s hope started to falter--Peggy looks just as confused as he feels. “It was like he became a robot that was programmed like he was just standing there--waiting to be made useful,” the words rush out of Steve’s mouth before he can even think about them, and once he says it he realizes how true they really were.

Bucky had looked like he was waiting for something to happen, for someone to give him directions. _ Like a soldier in a war. _ “We were also talking about Hydra--I’m not sure if that helps. But it’s not the first time he’s had a reaction to _ hydra _coming up in...conversation.” 

Peggy didn’t know that Steve was friends with the Avengers and probably thought it strange that he’d been talking about Hydra more than once, but she didn’t ask him about it, just purses her lips thoughtfully. 

To be polite, Steve takes a small sip of the tea she'd made for him, appreciating the warmth is sent through his otherwise chilled body. It didn't matter that her apartment's heat was blasting, Steve was chilled to the bone and couldn't seem to warm up for more than a few moments at a time. 

“Well, I certainly understand his aversion to Hydra,” Peggy _ tsked. _“Perhaps his reaction has something to do with that.” She arched a brow in consideration, her mind obviously racing back to the years before. 

This got Steve interested immediately. He leans forward in his chair, intrigued. “Why would he have something against Hydra? Besides the obvious, uh, Nazi thing.” He cleared his throat. "This reaction, it seemed personal."

Peggy purses her lips, shaking her head regretfully. “James didn’t have the easiest time in the war--well. Few do, I suppose, but James especially so. He was so talented, Steven. The best sniper I’ve ever seen--an excellent shot. And this talent got him a lot of attention from officials. His battalion ended up in a bad place with Hydra.” 

Her eyes flicked up to his for a moment, and Steve read the sadness there. Sadness, and guilt. Her lovely face looks so weathered, then, in ways Steve hadn’t noticed it being before. It’s easy to forget, in the presence of Peggy Carter, that you are sitting with an angel of war.

Steve can picture Peggy in her day, always put neatly together with pin curls and red lipstick, getting asked out constantly by soldiers who undoubtedly underestimated her position, only to be saved from certain death by her smarts and strategies alone. Steve can see her smug smile, the roll of her eyes. A powerhouse. A strong hold. 

“I know Hydra was active during the Second War,” Steve supplies. “And I know they’ve been lurking in the shadows for the past couple years again, trying to reorganize. But I’m not too versed in the details.”

Peggy fidgeted her fingers together, and let the silence sit for a moment before she replied. “Hydra captured the 107th--Jame’s battalion--and had them imprisoned. It was too dangerous to get them out since Hydra’s base was so well fortified and...it was deep into enemy territory.” 

She tucked a strand of white hair behind her ear delicately. “We didn’t have any other options.” The way she said that made it sound as though she were quoting someone. Perhaps Peggy had fought hard for the army to do something to save the 107th, only to be told there was nothing that could be done, they were lost souls.

Steve’s heart panged in sympathy, the horrors of the reality of the war hitting him. His cheerful, sprightly Bucky had suffered...a lot. He’d presumably lost friends, family, and definitely hope in the war. Then he died before the war was over and didn’t get peace, was just brought to his old apartment to sit and watch the world go ‘round, voiceless and alone. 

“We all prayed, though, for some kind of miracle, and a few days later the 107th came marching into camp, bruised and bloodied and starving....but alive.” 

“How did they get out?” 

“The men who came back said James created a distraction large enough to let them overpower a few guards and get away, helping each other and taking out a few Hydra soldiers on the way, though not able to get them all.” Peggy explained softly, her voice sad and quiet. “James...James wasn’t with them when they returned. He h-hadn’t made it out.” Peggy’s lip trembles a little, and Steve could see that the years between then and now hadn’t done much to heal the pain the war had caused.

He reaches out, and takes one of her cool hands into his. “Tell me?” he pleads softly, his eyes searching hers for answers. He hated that these memories were hurting her, but he had to knwo about Bucky's past so that he could understand the present. He needed to know. “Please, Peggy” 

“Hydra had him for three weeks.” Peggy sniffles, her free hand wiping angrily at her tears in the same fashion Bucky had when he’d let Steve see his vulnerable side. “He finally made it out after three weeks, no thanks to anyone but himself, including me. I did _nothing_ for him.” She shakes her head. 

“I’m sure your hands were tied,” Steve soothes, his thumb sweeping comfortable patterns along the back of her hand. “Peggy, what did Hydra do to him?” 

“...He wouldn’t say.” There is something in the way she hesitates that makes Steve thinks there is something she isn’t telling him. 

“But you noticed things,” he prompts, trying to read her. “He was different, when he came back? He’d changed.” 

“Well of course he was different,” She laughs incredulously, but her fingers grip his. “He didn’t speak a word about what they did to him, but his arms were covered in needle marks, and he was faster than he’d ever been before. He healed quicker, he was a better shot. He was stronger. He nearly lifted a car off a man!” She exclaims, and then laughed again, but it lacks humour. “Oh, Lord--you must think I’m even crazier now than before.” 

“No!” Steve reassures her, holding her hand tightly. He drank up the information, storing it away for later. “No, Ma’am, this is all very, very helpful. I've learned not to judge anything as impossible, these past few weeks. Thank you," He nods eagerly. “So you think they experimented on him?” 

Steve knew a little bit about the military race in the 40s to create a new breed of ‘super soldier’ but every historically documented example of the trials failed, with no survivors. 

Now that Steve considered it, it only made sense that Hydra at the time was trying to cook up their own concoction of super soldier. He just never would’ve thought the Nazi organization would be the ones to do it successfully. 

“Super soldier trials weren’t unheard of,” Peggy explains slowly, confirming Steve’s thoughts. “The US had even tried it, with no success. But, I...I think Hydra may have really done something to James.” her eyes flicked up to his, searching his face for judgement or disbelief, but Steve kept his face open and earnest, deeply interested in what she had to say. “There’s no way they _ didn’t, _truthfully.” 

“I think they enhanced him in some way, Steven. He was shot in the leg not longer after coming back from being captive and he was walking normally in a few hours. He was completely healed in _ days, _ Steve. Days, not weeks. He never got an infection, after that, he never got sick. The cold didn’t get to him nearly as much as it did everyone else. It just...wasn’t normal. Maybe other people didn’t notice, but I knew James well. I saw. I _ saw. _”

“But he's never talked about it.” Steve guesses, frowning. He taps his fingers against the porcelain mug. “He never told me any of that.” 

Peggy shook her head. “Whatever they did to him, it gave him nightmares. He’d wake up yelling and screaming, begging them to let him go. He probably didn’t want to remember his time there anymore than he wanted to go back,” She whispers, her face distance, trapped somewhere many years ago when Bucky was alive and the war raged on. 

“They used him for their own gain, and they didn’t care what happened to him in the process. He was their lab-rat. The other men who came back said Bucky was kept separate from the rest of the battalion. They never saw him, but” She paused to hiccup a little sob, “But they heard him _screaming._” 

Steve feels a wave of nausea come over him at the thought of Bucky, bound and helpless, screaming in pain as Hydra experimented on him crosses his mind against his will. He swallows it down.

“That explains his aversion to Hydra."

Some of the pieces were coming together, he was getting more insight into Bucky’s mysterious reactions. 

His charming, goofy Bucky had so much light in his eyes, he hinted nothing about the torture he’d endured. 

“Doesn’t explain the _ asset _ or the _ stand down _reaction, though. I just don’t get it…” Steve lets out a long breath, his mind working. “I’ve got some research to do, but this has been really helpful, Ma’am, thank you. I know it wasn’t easy, but I really appreciate it.” 

“It’s Peggy, darling. When you call me ma’am it makes me feel old,” She winks at him despite her sadness, and Steve sees the strength that must’ve gotten her through her worst days during the war, her ability to brush aside her hurting and focus on the task at hand. 

She smiles at him, all warm and maternal, and he’s just about to make an excuse to go home and start googling when something on her TV catches Steve’s eye. 

_ “Times Square is a mess of debris after the Avengers launch an attack on Hydra-operated air crafts circling above New York in the early hours of this morning. Streets are closed as clean up and further investigation on the origin of the attack continues. CNN reporter Thomas O’Riely is on the scene. Thomas?” _

Steve blanches at Peggy’s TV. His body floods with dread.

“Remote,” Steve says blankly. When Peggy doesn’t immediately answer, he gets to his feet, searching. “Peggy,” he snaps, “Where is your TV remote?”

“On the coffee table, dear, to the left,” She sounds worried, but Steve’s heart is racing too hard to comfort her now. 

He grabs the remote and turns up the volume with shaking fingers, his heart already sinking in his chest with despair. _No, no, no--_

_ “Thanks Susan. Here I am in Times Square at the scene of the attack. The aftermath is just unbelievable--we don’t know much, and as usual, the Avengers are staying tight-lipped on any leads they may have on the attack.” _ The camera pans wide to show crushed vehicles, smoke billowing out of buildings, and police and emergency vehicles barricading the area. “ _ Thanks to the Avengers, there were no civilian casualties.” _

Steve drops the remote, and sits down hard on the couch. _ No, _ he thinks, _ no, no, no. Let them be okay. _ He remembers Natasha’s bloody face the last time he saw her; if she wasn’t fully healed before going into this battle, she wouldn’t be performing at her best, she might have--

“_Civilian recorded footage shows a mysterious air-craft appearing out of seemingly nowhere, heading for the Avengers Tower, when the shooting began. When the aircrafts are brought down by Iron Man, around 20 foot soldiers take up arms against the Avengers, seemingly wounding Black Widow, whose condition is unknown at this time, as the Stark committee declined to comment.” _

“_Dammit,_ Nat,” Steve curses, reaching for his phone. At the same time, his cell pings with a text.

Nat says: _ News clip is dramatic; if you’ve seen it just know that I’m fine. I was wearing Kevlar, I’m not an idiot. Talk later. _

Steve sighs audibly in relief, clutching his phone to his chest as his heart rate slows down at the news. She was fine. She was _ fine. _

Steve says: _ And everyone else? I’m assuming they’re all okay? _

Nat says: _ The kids are alright. _

Steve rolls his eyes at the reference but is relieved all the same.

Steve says: _ I’m coming over later, no excuses. _

Nat doesn’t reply, which Steve takes as compliance with his request. 

He turns back to the news segment, grateful he would get to see his friends tonight as well as spend a night away from the apartment that felt more hostile and unwelcoming than it ever did when a ghost lurked the halls. 

“Oh, dear,” Peggy murmurs. “That is truly terrible. New York is in such a state, these days.” She shakes her head in disapproval. “Thank god for those Avengers. We really could have used a bunch like that during the war.” 

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, turning off the TV and standing. “Thank god.” 

“James…I think he’ll come back.” Peggy says suddenly. “He never stays away for too long.” 

“He’s left before?” Steve blanks. This was news to him, and the idea of a return sparked something warm in Steve's fingertips.

“Oh, yes. He’s disappeared before, sure. Only for a few days at a time, a couple of weeks at most. Then he comes back, with no recollection of where he’d gone or what he’d done.” She shrugs her shoulders helplessly. “It happened a few times while I was living there.” 

Steve tried not to let the hope become too strong. He hadn’t told Peggy the full story, that he’d been able to touch and smell and _ feel _Bucky, hear his heartbeat. It was different, it had to be. 

“That’s good to know, Peggy. I hope--” He cuts himself off. He didn’t want to say out loud that he hoped Bucky would come back. He knew how selfish a desire that really was, since Bucky obviously wasn’t happy in the apartment. He was trapped and alone, Steve as his only company. No one would want that, Steve certainly wouldn’t. “I hope that wherever he is, he’s happy.” 

Peggy tilted her head in consideration, her sad eyes glittering with mystery and dry humour. “Now that is a lovely sentiment, isn’t it?” She murmurs, mostly to herself. “Lovely indeed.” 

Steve sees himself out, leaving Peggy there with her sad eyes and her lost expression. 

Perhaps she was trapped in the past, the horrors of war and of Hydra. 

Perhaps she was lost in thought, considering what hell Bucky may be in or what Heaven he may have gone to. 

Steve hoped it was the latter, but after his conversation with Peggy he also had a sneaking suspicion that Bucky might come back home, echoing in the back of his mind.

Steve wasn’t sure if it was because of the information he’d deducted from their talk, or the sense of hope it had given him, or the despair that tugged at his heart so strongly the only option was to believe that he would see Bucky again, but...Steve felt the promise of a return lurking in the background, and for now, he didn’t think about it too hard. 

He just clung to the idea that he’d open the apartment door one day soon, and Bucky would be standing there, waiting for him with his tipped head and a handsome smile playing at his lips. 

He closes Peggy’s door behind him and sags against it, breathing out a long sigh. His mind was full of possibility, of emotions. Besides Bucky there were his friends to worry about, friends he had to go see.

\------------

When the Uber drops him off at the door of the Avengers tower, Steve sends a text to Natasha letting her know he was here. 

It wasn’t often Steve came to visit--he didn’t want to make himself too much of a familiar face around Tony Stark in case the guy started asking questions--but Nat did like having him in a high-security facility where she had guns to protect him, should anything happen. 

Her words.

Nat says: _ Okay. Security is expecting you. Give your name to JARVIS once you get to the elevator and you should be good to go. _

Steve says: _ Thanks. Be up soon. _

He keeps his head down as he walks in, feeling the energy shift immediately as he’s through the doors. 

Everyone here was important; top of their class at Ivy League colleges, huge life goals, running around in fancy clothing with files containing top secret information or millions of dollars behind them. 

Steve was nobody here, and he felt it right to his core. 

He presses the arrow up for the elevator and steps inside. No one else tries to join him, but security does give him a once over and a nod, confirming that Nat had spoken to them about him coming up. 

As he’s in the elevator, his chest bristles a bit, goosebumps rising on his arms. He’d been feeling sluggish the past few days but had attributed it to being distraught about Bucky’s absence. 

However, now that he listened closely to the wheezing in his breath, Steve feared he was getting sick. His body just had great timing like that.

“Greetings, sir,” Jarvis’s voice welcomes him as the elevator begins to rise. “How are you today?” 

“Been worse,” Steve mutters, still not too used to the idea of a Big-Brother-esque robot that saw and knew all of the goings-on in the Avengers tower. “Natasha’s floor, please.” 

“Right away, sir.” Jarvis agrees cheerily. “Just a quick retina scan to confirm your identity, then you’re on your way.” 

A laser blinks close to Steve’s eye and he flinches, but he must pass the test because the doors open onto Natasha’s floor just seconds later, giving him a bit of a head-rush. 

Steve had only been here a handful times and the space is not overly familiar, but he does recognize the background from Natasha’s frequent Facetime calls. 

“Nat,” He murmurs, stepping out of the elevator. He peers around the corner. “Nat, you here?”

There in the not-so-modest living room, Nat twirled a knife absentmindedly, looking up sharply when she noticed him there, though Steve knew from experience that she was aware of his presence the minute the elevator was a few floors away from approaching--she had a sixth sense in that way. He supposed it was necessary in her line of work.

She’s still bruised in the same places she was when Steve saw her earlier in the week, but they were healing well, yellow-ish underneath with some new red bruising obviously a result of today’s scuffle. Other than that, she looks good. 

Good, but on-edge. Even in her seemingly relaxed posture, there was a tenseness about her, something in her shoulders that wouldn’t let go. 

Steve imagines it’s been a long day for them both. 

“Steve.” She nods in acknowledgment, the knife going still in her hands. “Any trouble getting in?” 

“None at all,” He tells her tiredly. He kicks off his shoes even though she rolls her eyes at the gesture, and takes a seat on the couch beside her. After a once over, Steve decides she doesn’t look any worse for wear than when he last saw her, and it makes it a bit easier to breathe.

“You’re getting sick,” Nat points out, squinting her eyes at him. “You look terrible.” 

He decides to ignore that comment. He feared it was probably true. “You look...alive.” He tells her flatly. "That's good."

“Gee, you really know how to make a gal blush.” She snorts, flipping her hair over her shoulder and sitting up taller on the couch, facing him a little more. “You had to see it to believe it, hmm? You know, I am _damn good_ at my job. You really shouldn’t worry as much as you do.” 

Steve suddenly gets angry, his blood going cold. “You didn’t see the news, did you?” 

“Why would I watch the news? I was there.” 

“It looked _ bad, _Nat. They said you got hurt, they were saying--” Nat interrupts him but putting a hand over his. Her fingers and palms are smaller than Steve’s own artist's hands, but there is a strength to them that Steve doesn’t have. 

Her fingers are rough and calloused from years of fighting, her knuckles scarred from being cut open over and over again. 

Steve grasps her fingers tightly, thumb running along her jagged knuckles, but the illusion that he could ever do anything to protect her from the danger she faced every day is just that--an illusion. All Steve could ever do is hope.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha apologizes, her voice soft and sincere in a way it often wasn’t. “I know you worry about me. Us. It..” She pauses, trying to find the words. “It must have been scary, to see that without knowing the details.” 

“Yeah,” Steve snorts softly, eyes searching hers. “It was terrifying. I’ve got a frail heart, y’know. Better be careful or else you’ll send me to an early grave.” 

She offers him a small, sad smile. Steve seemed to be getting those a lot lately, from most everyone in his life. 

“You’re going to die when you’re good and ready,” She says forcefully, like saying it aloud would will it to be so. “You’re going to die when you’re old and stupidly fragile, peacefully, beside someone you love. That is the only ending I will accept for you, Rogers.” 

“So are you,” Steve whispers, and feels his eyes itching with tears, coming suddenly, because he knows it isn’t true for Nat, that a peaceful end likely wasn’t in the books for Sam or Clint, either. “You’re going to live a long life, right? Pass away when you’re wrinkly and smell like prunes?” 

She gives him that same sad, smile, and squeezes his hand tightly. “Yeah,” She lies smoothly. “Absolutely.” 

There is a pregnant pause between them, and then Jarvis cuts in. “Pardon the interruption,” He chimes, “But Mr. Stark has some footage he’d like Miss. Romanoff to review. It’s urgent.” 

“I’ve got company,” Nat complains, rolling her eyes. Steve wonders how many times a day JARVIS butts in with stuff of this nature. “It has to wait.” 

“Mr. Stark promised this could not wait.” Jarvis replies unhelpfully. “Code: Red 32.” 

Steve side-eyes Natasha curiously, wanting to see whatever footage Stark deemed so important, and she succumbs. 

“I’m not going to make Steve leave the room,” Natasha warns the robot. 

“Steven Grant Rogers is not a security threat,” Jarvis counters. “He has clearance. It’s civilian footage. It is not confidential in nature, just time sensitive, ma'am.” 

Steve gets a little excited to be included in the spy-stuff that he normally was kept away from. He sits up a little taller, smirking in excitement. 

"Try not to look so happy about this," Natasha scolds him. She side-eyes him warningly, and he waggles his eye brows in response. 

"Ma'am?" Jarvis prompts once more. "Permission to play the video?" 

“Yeah. Fine. Play the damn video.” She grumbles, giving Steve a warning glare that said _ don’t get used to this _.

A holographic screen appears before them. 

“Civilian recorded footage captured imagery of the Winter Soldier, ma’am. Mr. Stark would like you to take a look at his face and see if it’s someone you recognize from your earlier days with Hydra,” Jarvis explains in a cheery tone, and then the clip plays. 

_ The Winter Soldier. _Steve tucks that name away for later.

It’s only a 15 second clip, mostly of people screaming and running, and the camera is shaking, the footage mostly unclear. There is smoke and grunting of people fighting, and then the camera pans to the left, to show a man clad in all black, stalking towards the camera.

He’s got some kind of sniper in his hand, a long gun that Steve doesn’t have the expertise to identify, and a mask that covers the bottom half of his face, goggles that conceal his eyes. He’s got long brown hair that billows around him with the wind, falling above his shoulders, and.

_A metal arm. _

Nothing of this man was mentioned in the short footage Steve had seen, but he looked like bad news--strong, and dangerous. He walked all too confidently and calmly amidst the chaos to be the good guy, and that paired with Jarvis’ hint about Hydra, Steve felt pretty comfortable assuming someone nick named the Winter Soldier wasn’t good news.

The clip shows a bullet pinging off the man’s goggles, shattering them. As the camera gets shakier, the clip ends with the mysterious “Winter Soldier” ripping off the goggles and mask in one, frustrated movement, cocking his gun and aiming at something beyond the camera. The clip ends on a closeup of the man’s face. JARVIS pauses the video there. 

Steve blanches, adjusting his glasses to make sure he was seeing it correctly.

The man--his face, was... His _ eyes, _that nose--his entire profile. Steve’s heart skipped uneasily.

_It reminded Steve of…_

But no. That was impossible. Bucky was dead, a ghost. He’d lived in the 40s and now he was dead. 

This man, though. He looked an awful lot like his ghost. 

The image was blurry, difficult to make out, but Steve knew that sharp jawline--at least, the thought he did. The vacant, angry look in the man’s eyes was nothing like Bucky, and Steve knew he was being irrational. That was the only explanation.

He was projecting because he missed Bucky so much. He was searching for familiar faces in every stranger on the subway, and now in this video. 

“Это солдат.” Nat murmurs in Russian, voice slow and surprised. “Yes. Tell Tony I was right. It’s him.” 

“Very good, ma’am. I’ll let Mr. Stark know.” 

The screen disappears. Jarvis does not say anything else.

Steve forces thoughts of Bucky out of his mind. “Nat,” He begins. “Who was that?” 

Nat shakes her head. Steve can see that behind those eyes, the wheels are turning, her mind working in a hundred different directions to process whatever she had realized from that video. “Steve, you know I can’t answer that. You--you shouldn’t even have seen that. I’m getting sloppy about keeping things from you, and it’s not okay.” 

“You don’t have to protect me,” Steve murmurs defensively, folding his arms over his chest. Being so impatiently dismissed had admittedly hurt his ego. “I’m not a child.” 

“No,” Nat agrees tiredly. “You’re not. But you are a civilian. You aren't ...one of us, Steve. You’re _ good. _Innocent. You shouldn’t be dragged into all of this.” 

“No one is dragging me into anything. I chose to be your friend, and I’m still choosing that, now. Please, Nat, explain to me who he was,” _ because he looks so familiar. _“I want to understand, it's all over the news.” He had no idea if that second part was true or not, but it seemed appropriate, and he was willing to use whatever he could to get Nat to talk about the footage without giving away the reason why he was so curious. 

She presses her lips together and watches him uneasily. He works to keep his face unreadable, but won't give up.

“I’ve seen the clip. If you don’t tell me, I’ll ask Clint. If he won’t tell me, I’ll ask Sam, and if no one gives me a straight answer, then I’m going to google _ the winter soldier _. And I’ll end up on the dark web or something, probably, and then Hydra will see my internet history and track me down and kill me.” he smiles sweetly, batting his lashes. “Plus, you know, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

She closes her eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of her nose. Steve is sure she's about to tell him to get lost somewhere, when she lets out a very slow, deliberate breath, and opens her eyes again.

“I’m not going to go into details, but the Winter Soldier is the human weapon that I was worried about last week. Hydra’s project.” She explains tiredly, too exhausted to argue with Steve any more. “He isn’t new. They've had him for a while, but he’s good at what he does, stays underground or something until he’s needed to complete a mission. Then he disappears again.” She chews on her bottom lip, deep in thought. “We’ve been tracking his killings for a while, but we’ve only recently put together that it was actually_ him _we’ve been searching for, not multiple assassins. He’s a hard man to find.” 

“Like a ghost,” Steve supplies softly, almost without meaning to. 

“Except he’s not a ghost, he’s a highly trained, highly dangerous assassin, brainwashed to be exactly what Hydra wants; someone who won’t question morality or orders, will just do as they're told and do it right.” 

“And now he’s after you.” 

“Me and the Avengers,” Natasha corrects. “Yeah.” 

“Why did Jarvis want you to ID him? Do you know him or something?” 

“Yes,” She breathes, her eyes not blinking. Steve could see her mind going a hundred miles an hour. He twirls the knife in her fingers, staring at it. “We called him Sasha, but I’m sure that was an alias. He trained me, when. When I started with Hydra. Hell--he taught me most of what I know,” she shakes her head slowly, her hand coming up to brush her hair out of her face slowly. “It’s really him.” 

“That would make him, like, old, right? You started with Hydra when you were just a kid.” Steve didn’t know a lot about Nat’s history with Hydra--she didn’t like speaking about it and Steve didn’t mind her avoiding the topic, he knew it was a sore spot. “How is that possible? He looks like he’s in his late twenties.” 

She swallows. “I’m not sure. But that’s him. His fighting style, his voice--his face. Everything about him...it’s Sasha. I was pretty sure it was him when he started shooting at me, something about him just seemed so familiar, but. In the heat of the battle it’s hard recall the past.” She shrugs softly. “But yeah. That’s him.” 

“You should probably tell Stark,” Steve suggests helpfully, getting to his feet. He knew she had important work to do, and that he would only get in the way and distract her from it. If this guy really was raging around New York, Steve wasn’t going to be the person that delays him getting caught.

“I’m sure you’re going to be pretty busy getting to the bottom of who this guy is, right? If he’s that dangerous?” 

She looks over apologetically at him, as if remembering he was really there. “Yeah. I’m sorry we couldn’t hangout longer.” 

Steve shrugs with an impish smile, not blaming her in the slightest. If anything, he was glad to be out of the house, even if it was only for a short while. “You’re a busy gal, Natasha Romanoff. I’ll take whatever time I can get.” 

She doesn’t smile. “This guy, Steve, he’s in New York. So just be careful, don’t get caught alone in the dark. Even I wouldn’t want to be alone at night with Sasha on the loose. He’s unhinged.” 

That thought sent a shiver down his spine. Steve would be a good target for the Winter Soldier, if he wanted to lure in the Avengers. Steve was weak and unprotected, he’d be useful leverage. He’d be easy to control, hardly anyone would even notice he was missing, save for maybe Peggy and of course, his Avenger friends.

“Yeah, I’ll keep my mace on me,” Steve jokes, though truthfully he was a little worried. 

She gives him a small, grateful smile and sees him to the elevator doors, making him promise to text as soon as he got home. 

With that, the doors shut and Steve is alone with his thoughts. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapters song was "Everywhere I Go" cover by Sleeping at Last!! Give it a listen--you won't regret it, the vocals are just so beautiful!! 
> 
> What do we think is going on with the winter soldier and Bucky?? I love hearing your theories!!
> 
> TRANSLATIONS: 
> 
> Это солдат = That is the soldier


	7. Dream a Little Dream of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds out why Steve's been acting so weird. The longing between Steve and Bucky grows.

_ " _ _Say nighty-night and kiss me_  
_Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me_  
_While I'm alone and blue as can be_  
_Dream a little dream of me, yeah_

_Stars fading but I linger on dear_

_Still craving your kiss_   
_I'm longin' to linger till dawn dear_   
_Just saying this, yes"_

\- "Dream a Little Dream of Me", Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong 

* * *

The video haunts his memory the whole walk from the subway back to his apartment. He'd opted out of a taxi--being with a lot of people seemed safer after what'd witnessed, and the bite of the cold air against his lungs made him feel more focused. 

Steve's hands are clenched in fists as he walks, staring at his running shoes against the pavement. The man--the Winter Soldier--had_ Bucky’s_ face. 

And yet, despite the physical similarities, they looked nothing alike, really. Bucky’s face had always been warm and open, his eyes never had the blankness of the Soldier’s. The coldness. 

Except that wasn’t true, was it? 

Steve _ had _ seen that scary blankness in Bucky’s eyes before, when Steve mentioned Hydra. When he’d said the words _ stand down. _

His heart panged in his chest, but the connection seemed much too bizarre to draw. 

It was a coincidence, all of it, and Steve was just projecting. That is what his friends would tell him, if he told them the truth about his ghost. 

He _ wanted _to see Bucky, wanted some assurance that he hadn’t really left him, so he was making connections he shouldn't be. But Bucky was gone, and Steve was delusional. The Winter Soldier had nothing to do with his ghost, and had no place in his aching heart. That space was reserved for Bucky alone, and Steve didn’t know when it would start to feel easier.

The cold air nips at Steve’s fingertips and nose, rattles his lungs, and makes him wrap his arms around himself protectively, trying to block out the bite of the wind.

In his haste, he hadn’t dressed for the weather, and that combined with his erratic sleeping patterns and eating habits had definitely taken a toll on his body. 

Steve knew he was getting sick. 

Climbing the stairs to his apartment was rough. He had to stop several times to breathe in deeply from his inhaler and had worked up a light sweat from the exertion. By the time he gets to his floor, he’s full on wheezing.

He fumbles for his keys, fingers clumsy from the cold air. The feeling of dread washes over him as it often had in the past few days, knowing the apartment was empty and unwelcoming without Bucky. He unlocks the door and steps inside, snapping the lock promptly shut behind him. 

“Goddamn lungs,” He wheezes to himself, shucking off his coat and boots and hugging his arms around his body to preserve what little warmth he had. 

He heads straight for the kitchen to put on an herbal tea, hoping to soothe his sore throat before it got too bad, when he turns the corner and sees the kettle is already on, flicked to life and beginning to bubble.

Steve’s heart skips, fluttering with excitement. 

“No way,” he mutters, spinning around on himself. He didn’t want to let himself believe it for even a moment, afraid that the disappointment of knowing Bucky wasn’t home yet again would cause his bones to ache. “Bucky? Is that you?” 

Steve blinks around the room, searching desperately for any semblance of the man. When he blinks again, Bucky is there, leaning against the counter beside the tea pot, hands shoved into the pockets of his dark green trousers. 

“Is it me? What, has some other handsome ghost been makin' you tea while I've been away?" Bucky snorts, in that same familiar tone Steve had missed so deeply,"Hey, Ace,” he greets with a smile. “Miss me?” 

“Buck,” Steve breathes. Steve’s jaw nearly hit the floor. He’s stuck somewhere between wanting to hug Bucky tightly or punch him in his stupid, handsome face. 

Since Bucky is a ghost, however, Steve knows neither will have a satisfying result. He settles for throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation and stomping his foot like a child throwing a tantrum. 

“Where _ the hell _ have you been!” Steve demands incredulously. His voice is beginning to sound more nasally--proof that his cold was coming with a vengeance. “I’ve been worried sick, you know. I thought you were gone for good, and--and some weird shit happened before you just vanished! Really weird! Can we t-_talk _ about that, or something?” Steve yells, eyes wide as he glares at Bucky. 

Bucky is quiet for a moment. Then his eyes rake up and down Steve’s body, slowly, almost sensually, hungry to drink up every last detail before landing again on Steve’s face, his eyes going soft and fond. 

Steve really didn’t know what to do with himself when Bucky looked at him like that. It made him feel strange--kind of powerful, really. It didn’t seem right for someone who looked like Bucky to be making those eyes at someone who looked like Steve, dead or not. 

Steve’s stomach flipped and twirled, preening at the attention, but Steve’s head told his stomach to chill out, because _ remember, we’re angry. _

Bucky hesitates. “...You were worried about me?” 

Yep, that works splendidly to bring Steve’s anger back. “_That’s _the only part of that whole thing you picked up on?” Steve scoffs. "Unbelievable." 

"Steve--"

“Where the hell have you been, Buck? I deserve an explanation. _Yeah_, I was worried. And I was _scared_ for you. And I didn’t know if I would ever see you again.” Steve nearly feels tears sting behind his eyes but he forces them back. He was dizzy and deliriously angry and hurt and happy all at once, and he could feel his fever climbing, even as he shivered. It was making it hard to stay focused. 

“Hey,” Bucky says gently, his hands coming out of his pockets to hang at his sides as he straightens up. “Hey, I’m sorry for scarin’ you. S’okay, though, doll. I’m here now. I’m back.” 

Steve bites down on his bottom lip to keep it from trembling and his fingers curl into fists at his side. He remembers the panic, the worry. That terrified look in Bucky's eyes before he vanished. “_Where _ did you go.” he repeats stubbornly, fighting off tears. “I _ promised _you I wouldn’t leave--and, and you shouldn’t get to leave either!” 

Bucky inhales and exhales slowly. He shifts. “I know you’re not going to be satisfied with the answer, but. It’s the truth,” he begins gently, easing Steve into whatever information he was about to spill. 

Steve says nothing, just arches his brow and waits for more.

“I don’t remember,” Bucky confesses, finally. “I...I remember touching you. _ Really _touching you, and feeling you--and God, that was like Heaven. Only Heaven I’ve ever known,” Bucky pauses to look at Steve again, and Steve feels something in him break. A single tears slips free and runs down his cheek, hot. Bucky's eyes track the movement with a guilty look. 

Bucky's jaw clenches, and he takes a minute to compose himself before he continues, “and then I was somewhere else. Somewhere with bright lights, like I was lying on an...an operating table? I was calling for you, but you were gone. Next thing I know, I’m back here.” He purses his lips, watching Steve’s reaction closely. “How long have I been gone?” 

“Eleven days.” _ Feels like forever. _

Bucky snorts without humour, looking slightly relieved. “Well, I guess I can’t complain about eleven days. Sometimes I lose weeks at a time. No memory of where I go.” 

“Peggy mentioned it happening before,” Steve murmurs, not wanting to dwell on the idea of Bucky disappearing for weeks at a time. He wipes at his tear with the back of his hand. “But you never remember what happens?”

“Never,” Bucky admits softly. “But...being able to touch you. That’s never happened before. Not since I died.” Bucky wets his lips, watching Steve very intensely. “That was real, right? You could...feel me, too?” 

“It was real.” Steve whispers, being sucked back into that moment, the heat of Bucky against him. It was the realest thing he'd ever experienced. “I felt you.” 

He had felt Bucky’s chest against his, the feeling of safety and security that came with being tucked so closely together, like nothing else in the world could touch them. Bucky’s smell, strong and earthy, the look of wonder in his eyes--

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” Bucky says quietly, walking towards Steve with slow, deliberate steps. “But those few moments, where I felt _ real, _where you touched me, and I touched you…” 

Bucky is standing as close to Steve now as he was in that moment, only there is cold air and a feeling of emptiness where Bucky stands, not the full-warm solidness that Steve remembered from those few fleeting seconds.

It doesn't stop Steve from wanting to throw himself into Bucky's arms, especially since he knew now how they felt wrapped around him.

“Sweetheart, that...that was the most human I’ve felt in 80 years.” 

Steve looks up at Bucky through his lashes, through the fog of his fever and the oncoming cold. The air was charged with something, an electric current that made both of them do nothing but stay quiet, watching the other and waiting for...for something, Steve didn’t know what, exactly. 

He was pretty sure they’d talked about Bucky and his pet names, about how things between them were getting too weird and too real and it was making Steve _ scared. _He didn’t want to have his heart broken, and he certainly didn’t want to fall in love with a ghost. 

But he can’t be mad, and he’s not smart enough to remind Bucky to stop. Right now, the terms of endearment fill Steve up with warmth and comfort. Bucky was _ home. _He would stay with Steve. 

Wherever we went..he would come back. He'd always come back.

“Buck,” Steve whispers, unsure what he could even say to that. Part of him wants to sob _ me, too, _ because although Steve _ was _alive, he still felt the same. Those few moments with Bucky’s hands on him were the most alive Steve’s ever felt, too. The most powerful. 

But confessing those things out loud would make their situation even more complicated than it already was, so they just stare at each other, both hiding deep secrets in their eyes and in their hearts. The traffic buzzes by outside, the wind howls at the windows. Bucky's eyes tell him things Steve pretends not to know.

Bucky is the first to speak, breaking the tension and giving Steve a small, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry I made you worry. I put the kettle on. Figured it looked cold outside, thought you might want some tea.” 

Steve steps back from Bucky, needing the space to be able to think properly. Trying to organize thoughts while standing that close to a handsome 6’4 soldier with pale blue eyes--even a dead one--made coherence nearly impossible. 

“It’s freezing outside,” Steve agrees, heading for the kettle and grabbing a mug. He could feign normalcy if it meant keeping Bucky around. “Thanks, Buck,” he sniffles.

“Oh, Steve. Listen to you. You’re getting sick, ain’t ya?” 

“Just a little head cold, I’ll be alright.”

Bucky squints at him in clear disapproval, watching like a hawk as Steve prepares himself a tea, pouring the hot water into his mug and adding some honey.

“You should go to bed and get some rest.” Bucky scolds, albeit gently. “You’re obviously exhausted.” 

They had so much to talk about--Steve had so many questions that he craved answers to, he wanted to know _ why _Bucky disappeared, where he went and why he had no memories of anything from his time away. 

He also couldn’t shake that video footage of the Winter Soldier, his face looked so similar and yet so different from Bucky’s. 

Something about it resonated deep in Steve’s bones and he couldn’t shake it. Every time he closed his eyes, the image was waiting for him behind his eyelids.

_ Sasha, _Natasha had called him, but that name meant nothing to Steve, and he’d still have yet to find out if it meant anything to Bucky. 

For now, though, Steve supposed it would be nice to enjoy Bucky’s presence, be grateful for his return, and get ahead of his cold before it turned into something nastier. 

“Haven’t been sleeping well,” Steve admits quietly, lifting the cup to his lips and taking a small sip. The honey in it helped soothe his throat and the tea warmed his belly. “I think you’re right. Bedtime for me,” he yawns. “Coming?” 

Bucky snorts but follows behind Steve obligingly as he heads for the bedroom. It wasn’t late enough for bed, really, but he was exhausted and he knew his body needed the rest, Bucky was right. 

“Why haven’t you been sleeping well?” Bucky asks, though Steve suspects he already knows the answer.

He tugs off his jeans, slipping into bed with just his boxers and sweatshirt, sitting up against the wall of his bed and watching Bucky with an even gaze as he takes a seat at the edge of Steve’s bed. He takes another long sip of tea.

“Because I was worried about you.” Steve says honestly. “I didn’t know where you were--you sounded _ scared _when you were calling for me, Buck. Really scared. And you went all...blank eyed. Like you weren’t even the same person. And then you disappeared, and--” Steve has to stop to cough midway through, but waves a hand at Bucky when he stands to find Steve’s inhaler. 

“M’fine, I’m okay.” He takes a steadying breath, and continues. He has to blink through the fogginess in his head and work had to keep his thoughts coherent. “I didn’t know where you were, I d-didn’t know if you were okay, or scared, or if you were ever going to come back.” Steve finishes, taking a sip of his tea mostly to keep from coughing again.

Bucky looks guilty, which Steve wished he wouldn’t do. It’s not his fault, Steve is sure of it. Bucky didn’t _want_ to go wherever he'd been pulled to, Steve could tell that much. 

He just didn’t know if he was getting the full story; it was hard to gage. He’d only known Bucky for a couple of weeks, and Bucky didn’t remember a lot of his own past before dying. 

“M’sorry, Ace. I can’t control when I go, or for how long, and...I don’t remember anythin’ about it. I remember the lights, and some voices,” Bucky squints, obviously trying to remember. “Uh, speaking Russian, I think. But I don’t remember what they were saying. And then I was here again. Just got back ‘bout ten minutes before you came home. If I could stay, you should know I’d never willingly leave you.”

Steve purses his lips thoughtfully. That promise means more to Steve than it had any right to. 

He wants to help Bucky figure out where he kept disappearing to--maybe it had something to do with why he had those weird blank reactions, or why he was even haunting the apartment in the first place. 

Steve is about to tell Bucky exactly that, when he gets suddenly dizzy and foggy, his mind going hazy. He sways a little in his sitting position, his eyes goig a bit unfocused.

“Whoa, there,” Bucky mutters, waving his hand. "Easy, Steve. Here, lemme--"

The mug Steve had been clutching gently dislodges itself from his fingers and sets down carefully on Steve’s night table with Bucky’s guidance. Bucky holds his hand against Steve’s head, but of course, Steve doesn’t feel his touch, just the cool air of it, and the relief it provides against the burning heat of his fever.

“Feels nice,” Steve tells Bucky, leaning his head into the not-there touch and sinking down further into bed. He lets his eyes slide shut. 

“You’re burning up,” Bucky frets, but he keeps his hand there. “You doin’ okay, Stevie?” 

“S’hot in here, you know? Can you just--can you lay with me? I know...I know I can’t feel you but. You’re cold. It feels good,” Steve pleads, looking up at Bucky through lashes that were damp from his watering eyes. “P-Please?” 

A part of him hated how desperate and vulnerable he sounded, a nagging voice in the back of his head telling him he was being too needy. But the voice was small in comparison to Steve’s desire to be cared for, especially by Bucky.

It was unusual for him, to let someone fuss over him, take care of him like this. He didn’t usually crave the affection as much as he was now. But something about Bucky’s presence and his deep honey-voice made Steve want him to stay forever. He didn’t mind letting Bucky see him vulnerable. 

Bucky looks like he’s about to refuse in favour of going to fix Steve another tea, or maybe something to eat, but he lets out a long sigh, and brushes his not-there fingers over Steve’s cheekbone, finally giving up with the pretence of busyness. 

“How can I say no to you when you’re lookin’ at me like that, kitten?” He murmurs softly. “S’impossible.”

Bucky looked at him like he was something special, something rare. Steve wasn’t used to it--he had never been looked at like that before. 

But he decided, in his feverish, foggy state, that he liked it very much.

“I like the way you look at me, Buck,” He tells Bucky sluggishly as Bucky settles in beside him. 

The bed doesn’t sag with Bucky’s weight, but Steve feels the cool air around him like a blissful blanket, bringing down the temperature of his burning skin. “Makes me feel like m’precious or somethin’.” 

Bucky looks so real, beside him. Steve’s got his face tucked in against his would-be chest, curled up so small in Bucky’s arms he feels like he could disappear into them. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend like he feels Bucky there, like he feels rather than senses Bucky’s lips in his hair, his hands soothing slow circles over Steve’s back. 

“You are precious,” Steve thinks he hears Bucky say--but it could’ve been his fever-induced haze and wishful thinking. It was impossible to say.

“Stay,” Steve pleads, curling up smaller, as if making himself fit into the shadow of Bucky’s embrace would keep him there, beside him, forever. He wasn't strong enough to lose Bucky again. Not ever. Their little paradise, with no one to disturb them or rip Bucky away. No one to make that fear creep into Bucky’s voice. It's safe here, and as easy as breathing, to just _be _with Bucky. “Please.” 

“I’ll stay, sweetheart.” Bucky tells him indulgently. “Ain’t nowhere else I’d rather be. Now get some rest.” 

Steve hums, already being tugged into sleep by his exhausted body. 

Since Bucky left, sleep had been near impossible, too engrossed in worry of where Bucky was, if he was coming back. 

But the cool air of Bucky wrapped around Steve both kept his fever at bay and reassured him that Bucky was there. It would be a peaceful sleep tonight.

“_Stars shining bright above you,_” Bucky begins to sing, his voice a slow, honey-sweet croon, right in Steve’s ear. “_Night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’_…” 

Steve wants to open his eyes, wants to see the way Bucky’s lips shape around each vowel and tune, wants to tell him that he _ likes _the sound of Bucky’s voice, and--_and don’t stop, Buck, it sounds so nice-- _

“_Birds singing in the Sycamore tree, dream a little dream of me…_” Bucky sings, and with that, Steve is pulled away into a sleep filled with pleasant dreams and whispers of Bucky in every corner of his unconsciousness, as if Bucky had flittered into his head and willed it t so.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Steve wakes up slowly. 

At first, he notices he’s warm--really warm. Burning, really, a light sweat all over his body. 

The next thing he notices is that he’s not alone. 

When he blinks his eyes open, adjusting them against the morning sun, Steve sees that Bucky is sitting up in bed beside him, a cool hand hovering above Steve’s forehead. It feels nice. Steve leans into it without thinking. 

“Morning, sunshine,” Bucky drawls, giving Steve a slow smile. The morning light does wonderful things for Bucky, highlighting the auburn tones in his hair and the playfulness in his eyes. It’s not a bad thing to wake up to, and Steve is incredibly aware of how much he’d like to wake up to the sight of Bucky every morning.

Steve blinks a few more times, and then pushes himself up into a sitting position beside Bucky. 

“You really stayed right there beside me all night?” Steve asks incredulously, instead of greeting Bucky. 

“Of course I did,” Bucky shrugs, like it’s obvious. He looks down at Steve with fond blue eyes. “You asked me to, remember?” 

“I asked you in a fever-induced haze,” Steve points out matter-of-factly, with a sniffle. “I would never actually expect you to sit here and...listen to me wheeze all night long. That must’ve been really boring.” 

Bucky shrugged softly. “Not at all. I, uh,” he looks away sheepishly. “I actually flipped through your sketchbook to pass the time. Hope you don’t mind.” 

Steve bristles at that. He did mind, actually, he minded quite a bit. 

That was essentially his diary. He drew uncensored in his sketchbook, it wasn’t meant for anyone else's eyes. 

Steve’s face gets hot as he thinks about a specific rendition of Bucky, where Steve had laid him out with charcoal on the page, large wings emanating from his back and a halo around his head, specific attention paid to a dark, anguished look in Bucky’s eyes and the hard lines of his muscles, littered in scars. A fallen angel. A guardian angel. Something not of this world--he'd just been trying to make sense of who Bucky was to him. It was never meant to be seen, especially not by Bucky himself. 

It was some of Steve’s best work, he could admit, but he was mortified that Bucky had seen all that, and braced himself for the relentless teasing that was sure to follow. 

“You looked through my _ sketchbook? _All night long? You saw...everything?” Steve gapes. He felt naked, exposed. 

“Don’t be mad. You’re…” Bucky shakes his head slowly, as if in awe. “Steve, you’re _ good. _Like, really good. I don’t know shit about art,” He laughs dryly, “But damn, I mean. Some of these portraits look like they could jump off the page and start talkin’.” 

Steve blinks a few times, processing the situation. If anyone else had looking through his sketchbook, Steve would be furious. He’d be stropped naked in the cold, exposed in a brutal and unforgiving way. 

With Bucky, though, and especially with the way Bucky was looking at him now, it was hard to be angry. 

He feels as though Bucky had seem all of him, now. There were no secrets between them, there couldn’t be, after what Bucky had seen. 

Every ounce of Steve’s grief over his mother, every smile line on Natasha’s face that Steve was proud to have taken some responsibility for, every nightmare that Steve’s ever had about losing his friends...every angle of Bucky’s body, greedily digested through his eyes and spewed out again on paper.

Bucky knew his soul, now. There was no going back.

He wasn't sure what to say. Part of him was still angry, a bit jostled by the unexpected exposure. “Buck--I...” 

“Is that really how you see me?” Bucky cuts in abruptly, something desperate in his tone, almost afraid. 

He waves his fingers in a _ come closer _gesture, and Steve’s sketchbook peels itself from Steve’s night table, floating over to the bed and landing on the space between them. 

Bucky flicks his fingers again, and leafs through the pages without even touching them, before landing on the sketch of himself and Bucky that Steve had been working on the night that Bucky had disappeared.

“Like this?” Bucky prompts, pointing to the page. 

Steve doesn't have to look closely to remember exactly what stared up at him from the pages.

It was a pencil sketch of the two of them, the night they’d been dancing in Steve’s bedroom, Billie Holiday crooning on Steve’s phone. Only this time, they were actually touching, their bodies curled into one another as though they were an inseparable unit, as though it didn’t matter that Steve was alive and Bucky was not. 

On the paper was a world where Bucky could hold Steve for as long as he wanted. They could dance or hold hands, or sit together with their shoulders touching and eat dinner in front of the TV, and not talk about anything else except how good the mac’n’cheese was.

They could just _ be, _and things would be simple.

In a perfect world.

In the sketch, they’re staring intensely at each other, but Bucky’s got a playful smile tugging at his lips, the one that Steve loves so much. 

He looks exactly as handsome as he did every day, stiff shoulders and ripcord muscles, a few curls falling in his face to make him look just a little bit undone, undone enough so that you want to undo him more, just to see what he would look like…

The moonlight comes in through the window in the picture, but other than that there is no background. Steve is small compared to Bucky’s height and general bulk, but looks every bit like he belongs in Bucky’s arms, and nowhere else.

Steve gets a little lost in the memory of that night, the hovering, the just-barely-there lips, whispers of Bucky guiding him around his room, the serenity of the moon as their guardian, keeping watch with the stars. 

“Do you really see me...like that, Steve?” Bucky asks again, eyes searching Steve’s face, but for what, Steve didn’t know. 

Steve suddenly feels nervous--Bucky was hinting at something dangerous, an unspoken rule between them that they wouldn’t mention the lingering glances, the way Steve was so clearly enraptured by Bucky’s being. Or else, why would Steve have been so lost when he left? Why was Steve so full of peace when Bucky was around? 

Why did every thought he had, in one way or another, flitter back to his ghost? 

“You’re beautiful,” Steve croaks. He doesn’t want to answer any further. 

“Not that.” Bucky presses. His eyes search Steve’s face for something--but Steve didn’t know what he hoped to find, or even what he saw there. Steve isn't sure what he's feeling. “You know what I mean.” 

Steve’s heart jumped uncomfortably. They were approaching dangerous territory. _No--he didn’t want to talk about this, he wasn’t ready. _

The _ thing _brewing between them was not ripe enough to bite from, was not mature enough to be prodded. It was a fragile, new thing, squirming deep in Steve’s chest and not yet fit for the world. 

“Bucky,” Steve pleads, wanting to end the conversation. He was sick, and tired, and so confused it hurt his fever-riddled head. "Don't."

“Is that how you see me?” Bucky says for a fourth time, his voice breaking. 

He didn’t want to talk about it. He would delay as long as he could. “What do you mean?” 

Bucky stares down at the sketch with soft, fearful eyes, then back up to Steve. He looks like he might be close to tears. “Like...someone worth dreaming about.” 

Steve swallows hard. Dreaming about Bucky? Yeah, he dreamt about Bucky all the time, in his sleep or otherwise. With eyes like that, with a body that couldn’t touch or be touched--dreaming was really all they had.

“If you could sleep--if you could dream,” Steve whispers, his voice barely audible, “Wouldn’t you dream about me?” 

Bucky looks up at him sharply, as if Steve had admitted something shocking, like Bucky didn’t already know how gone Steve was for him, how much he would have liked for Bucky to stay with him in the morning sun forever. 

Bucky wets his lips, staring at Steve’s own mouth, and then his eyes dart back up to Steve’s. 

Steve can feel it in the air between them, the tension, the hopelessness of it. The _ almost _ kiss, the desire. The bittersweet. It fills the room up to the brim, leaving almost no room for oxygen and lending a breathless sort of feeling to his chest.

“Yes,” Bucky admits, voice raw. His fingers are claws on his own thighs, as if he was physically restraining himself from reaching out to touch Steve. “I would.” 

Steve curls his hands into fists and digs his nails into his palms to keep from doing something absurd, like yelling or kicking or begging Bucky to just find a way to _ kiss _him. 

“Then you have your answer,” Steve says curtly, and kicks his legs out of bed, desperate for air. 

The moment between them was done, left at that. Steve couldn't bear to talk more about it, when always lingering in the background of his heart was the knowledge that it didn't _fucking _matter what either of them felt. It was never, ever going to work. 

“Steve--”

Steve coughs into his elbow, and the cough results in some pretty undignified and definitely unattractive wheezing. 

It’s an okay way to clear the tension. 

“‘Least I don’t need to worry about gettin’ you sick with all my germs,” He mumbles. He did feel like shit. 

Bucky lets out a long breath, getting to his feet. “Don’t apologize for being sick, punk. You do look like hell though, you know. You should take some medicine.” Steve is glad he’s decided to drop the subject for now.

“Yeah, I know.” Steve mutters, rolling his eyes. He could hardly care about his appearance now, but he did feel rather gross, the night of sweat and chills sticking to his skin. “Alright,” Steve stretches out his limbs. “I need to shower. No peeking.” 

Bucky watches him sidelong. “No promises,” he winked playfully, and Steve turns his face away so that Bucky wouldn’t see his cheeks get red. 

They danced around each other in this way. 

_________________________________________________

Steve runs the water extra hot, and for extra long. 

He presses his face into the cool porcelain tile of the shower and thinks about calloused hands on his body, tight on his sharp hip bones, teeth and full lips nipping at his ear lobe, his neck, his shoulder.

That _ voice, _ deep in his ear and hungry for more, saying his name, praising him. _ Bucky, _ Steve wants to scream, his hand tight around himself as he desperately chases release. _ Bucky, Bucky, BuckyBuckyBuckyBucky-- _ no other word in his vocabulary mattered, there was only _him, _and Steve wishing he was everywhere, all over Steve, hands pressed against every inch of him.

“Mm--_ Buck,” _he whispers into his fist, unable to keep completely silent but praying desperately that the shower was loud enough to drown it out. He comes like that, body tensing and then sagging against the wall of the shower with an undignified wheeze, a dead mans name on his lips and caught in his throat. 

***

After Steve gets out of the shower, makes breakfast and gets ready for work, Bucky stays rather silent, but he watches Steve with a hungry eye. 

***

“Buck, I’m home,” Steve calls hoarsely, dropping his bag at the door and locking it behind him. 

Work had been uneventful, but more peaceful than the last few days. He didn’t dread coming home anymore, which was a blessing. Even being sick as he was, he had a certain bounce in his step as he made his way to his apartment. 

He and Bucky weren’t on the smoothest of terms; the _ thing _bubbling between them had left them both a little unsure of how to act around the other, but Steve could deal with a little tension, as long as Bucky stuck around.

He coughs a little into his sleeve and sniffles as he walks inside. The cold air had irritated his lungs and the stairs hadn’t helped. He was feeling breathless and a little lightheaded. When was the last time he’d eaten? 

“Buck?” He tries again, walking towards the living room where Bucky usually hung out. He peered around but saw nothing. “It’s me.”

When Bucky doesn’t answer, Steve’s heart drops. “Bucky?” He says again, louder, looking around the living room and trying to sense the space...but the air was warm. “Buck, where are you?” 

No answer. Panic floods in Steve’s belly. 

“No,” Steve whispers, his heart in his throat. “Not again. Not again, Buck, where the _ hell _are you--”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Sam’s voice startles Steve so much he jumps about half a foot in the air and drops his travel mug on the floor, wheeling around to see him standing casually in the threshold between his kitchen and living room, arms folded over his chest. 

The panic makes his chest tighten, along with the worry about where Bucky was, and Steve lapses into another coughing fit, wheezing for air. The cold he’d been battling for the duration of the day wasn’t making it any easier to breathe. 

_ Dammit, fucking goddamn piece of shit lungs-- _

His chest is tight. It’s an asthma attack, a bad one--Steve gets lightheaded from the lack of sufficient oxygen, but his inhaler was in his work bag, zipped up neatly in the front pocket. 

It was all the way down the hall, now. Only a few feet, but it seemed an impossible distance away. He starts to move towards it, wheezing for air.

"Where is your inhaler?" Sam barks, already scanning the counter tops. 

Steve bends over to support himself on his knees. _Bucky was gone, and he couldn't breathe._

"Bag. P-Please.” He coughs, eyes watering. His chest heaves and his throat burns. He needs to _ breathe._ He needed Bucky. He didn't know which he needed more. "Please."

Sam is already halfway down the hall when Steve’s inhaler appears before him, nudging itself closer by an invisible force, seemingly by its own will. 

But Steve knew better. 

_ Bucky. _

Steve grabs the thing with shaking fingers, and inhales the medicine deeply, twice. Sagging back against the wall with relief as he is slowly able to breathe once again. Relief at being able to breathe, but mostly relief at knowing Bucky was still there. 

Bucky hadn't left him. 

“You’re here,” Steve whispers, dizzy with the relief of knowing Bucky hadn’t disappeared again; he hadn’t answered because Sam was there. It made sense. Relief washed over Steve, so strong he closes his eyes and even smiles a little. “T-Thank you.” 

Sam comes back in with the bag. “It’s not in--” he stops, seeing Steve with the inhaler and looking more at peace. 

“Must’ve misplaced it,” Steve coughs, getting heavily to his feet. He then turns to glare at him. “What the h-hell are you doing here? Since when did you start breaking into my apartment?” Steve couldn’t think of any reason for Sam to be sneaking around. Sam wasn’t at work today and it made Steve wonder how long he’d been there. 

He’s sure Bucky was probably equally as spooked, hearing someone enter the house that wasn’t Steve. 

Sam looks sheepish. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” He admits quietly. “Sorry, man. My bad.” 

“Not mad, Sam, just worried. Confused.” He knew he locked the door before he left, but he’s not going to ask how he got in. Frankly, he doesn’t want to know, and he’s pretty sure a locked door is to Sam what a baby gate is to a teenager. “I’m not sure what this is about.” 

“I’m worried about you.” He says flatly, eyeing Steve up like he was trying to read Steve’s mind. “And so are Nat and Clint.” 

Steve’s eyebrows hike up. “I was at Nat’s place yesterday,” he argues. “She didn’t mention anything about it.” 

“She’s had a lot on her mind. But she _ is _worried.” Sam continues. 

Steve could hardly believe this was happening. Sam _ broke into his apartment _because he was worried about him? “Well, I’ve got a lot on my mind, too. What is this, some sort of intervention?” 

Sam’s hesitation is answer enough. “I’m just worried about you.” 

“What do you mean you’re _ worried _about me? You’re the one running around fighting Russian spies who are trying their hardest to kill you,” Steve feels obligated to point out. “And I don’t see why you couldn’t just send me a text if you were really that worried. I don’t get what breaking into my apartment has to do with it.” 

Sam’s face is unreadable. “Steve--” 

“No,” Steve cuts him off, storming into the kitchen. “I’m not a child, and I don’t appreciate being treated like one, especially by my friends.” 

Sam follows behind him quietly, but doesn’t reply for a long time. He watches Steve sit down heavily in the dining room chair, and then takes a seat across from him without being invited.

“Who is Bucky, Steve?” Sam says softly, as though he’s afraid to set Steve off again. The gentle tone only makes Steve feel more defensive. “You were calling for a ‘Bucky’ when you got home.” 

“I--”

“Don’t lie.” Sam says sharply, stepping closer to him. He’s wearing a deep frown, filled more with worry than anything else. "No more lies."

Steve knows how he must look; pale and sickly, wheezing for air and calling out to an invisible person. He folds his arms over his chest and sticks his chin up defiantly. He'd always known this conversation was coming, he'd just been hoping to have some time to prepare for it. 

“Is this why you broke in?” Steve raises his eyebrows. Nat must have mentioned something about that broken mug incident the last time she was over. That felt like a lifetime ago. 

Steve had promised to tell her what was going on eventually, but the timing was never right. It didn’t feel right now, either. Sam’s eyes were distant, as though he was already expecting Steve to say something that would disappoint him. It wasn’t an expression Steve liked. 

“I wanted to make sure the place was safe,” Sam admits finally. “I was worried that someone was giving you trouble. One of our enemies.” By that, Steve knew, Sam meant an enemy of the Avengers. They had a lot of enemies, and so far, it was a miracle that none of them had come after Steve. 

After all, he was the perfect target. Small, sickly, no powers, but of high value to all of the Avengers. He would be someone’s perfect ticket to revenge.

“It’s not that.” Steve says flatly, with a sniffle. He felt like he was being interrogated at the police station. "I would have said if I was being harassed by some kind of criminal, Sam."

"Then what is it?"

“Don’t make me say it,” Steve mutters, looking anywhere but at Sam. The stubborn set to Sam’s jaw worried him; he didn’t look like he was going to drop it anytime soon. “Let’s just forget about it. I'm fine, just distracted. Moving into a new place and living--alone. And all that.” 

“Please,” Sam swallows, his features softening slightly. His tone lets Steve know that Sam isn't buying his excuses. “Steve, I’m worried ‘bout you. I know you well enough to know that something is going on.” 

Steve eyes him, is heart rate picking up. If he _ does _tell Sam, he risks being laughed at, being told to be real. He didn’t want to have his best friend laugh in his face, especially when the situation with Bucky was leaving him so broken hearted. He was in a vulnerable place.

“You have to promise not to think I’m crazy.” 

Sam frowns. “I’m not going to think that--”

“Promise,” Steve interrupts sharply. "You have to promise." 

He wouldn’t take the chance. It’s the same thing he feared with Natasha; that she would think him insane or delusional or childish for believing in ghosts. It would be nice, Steve thinks, to not have to carry this secret alone anymore. Talking about it with Peggy had helped, and to have one more person on his side couldn't hurt. Perhaps he was over estimating how well he was dealing with it. A shoulder to cry on sounded pretty damn good. 

“Please.” He prompts again, when Sam doesn’t immediately answer. 

Sam takes a deep breath in, but holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine,” he agrees. “I promise.”

“Okay,” Steve walks into the living room, collapsing down heavily onto the couch beside Sam. He crosses his legs under him, folding up small, as though doing so could protect him from the blows of what this conversation might do to their friendship. 

Bucky appears then, and Steve catches his gaze, then looks over to Sam quickly. Sam's face doesn't change, though, and it's clear that his friend can't see Bucky.

Bucky sits in the corner of the room, watching Steve with an even expression. He nods his head once, as if giving Steve permission to tell his story. He looks a little uneasy as he does so, but not angry or afraid. Just uncertain. 

He was probably just as nervous to see Sam’s reaction. If it wasn’t a good one, it would affect Steve deeply. 

Steve breathes in and out deeply, turning his attention back to Sam. “Okay, so. The thing is, I don’t live alone.” 

Sam’s eyebrows hike up. That was clearly not the answer he’d been expecting. “What?” 

“I have a...a roommate,” Steve murmurs. He keeps his voice soft, reasonable. He tries not to overthink--it would be better if he just spoke from the heart. “But he’s not _ alive.” _

Sam’s face falls, looking immediately annoyed. “Look, Steve. I know this is your first time living on your own, and the ghost stories you were talking about...It can get into your head. You hear a noise, you think it’s something more than it is--”

“I’m not crazy,” Steve cut in, but his voice sounds a little too desperate to be convincing. “I’m not crazy, Sam, and I don’t live alone.” His eyes dart to Bucky, whose eyebrows are pulled up with concern, but he gives Steve an encouraging nod. 

“There _ is _ a ghost that lives here, Sam, you have to believe me. He’s a man, a soldier, who died in the war. His name is Bucky and he’s my _ friend--” _

“Oh, Steve--”

“You said!” Steve cries incredulously. “You said you wouldn’t call me crazy--you promised you would try to believe me. Please, Sam, I wouldn’t lie about something like this. I’ll tell you everything, but not if you’re going to look at me like you want to throw me into a nut-house and lock the door.” 

Sam’s eyes searched his for a moment or two, and then he concedes, nodding. 

“Alright,” He agrees. He keeps his face passive and unreadable. “Let’s talk.” 

Steve tells him. 

He tells Sam about Peggy, and her stories about the brave soldier she once knew. Steve tells him about Bucky falling from the train, and waking up here, about how Bucky looks real and sounds real and is _ kind, _so kind that it hurts. 

He tells Sam about Bucky turning off the stove for him and saving him from falling and he even tells him about Junkie, which is when Sam’s face gets a little red with anger, although it gradually dissipates once he plows on with the story, not giving Sam time to get upset.

Steve tells him gently about Bucky disappearing for days at a time, and watches his face work to make sense of that, trying to draw a connection from what Steve had told him so far. 

Steve tells Sam about Bucky becoming solid for a few, fleeting seconds, before disappearing. 

He doesn’t tell Sam about his sketches, about slow dancing under the light of the Brooklyn moon, about the fluttering in his chest when Bucky calls him _ sweetheart, _ or _ doll, _ or _ Stevie. _He felt that would only open up a line of questioning that Steve wasn’t ready to endure. 

Sam is quiet the entire time, not commenting on anything. 

When Steve is finished, he turns to him and takes a deep breath. 

“Okay,” he says with a slight cough, settling back into the couch. Retelling their tale makes him feel suddenly exhausted. “That’s it.”

“Can I see him?” is Sam’s only reply. His face is impossible to read. 

Bucky had disappeared even to Steve once he’d started telling Sam his story; perhaps it was too painful to him to listen to Steve recount everything. 

Now, though, Bucky reappears, flickering into view. He’s standing plainly, his face a mix of pain and hope. Steve meets Bucky’s stoic gaze. 

“He’s standing right there, by the TV.” Steve tells him. Steve tries his best to ignore the pounding in his head, but it was getting louder. He felt like shit. 

Sam turns to look, but his eyes scanned the room, coming up with nothing. He looks back at Steve suspiciously. "I don't see anything."

“I’m the only one who can see him,” Steve tells him gently. There is more of a wheeze in his breathing, now, probably from talking so much. “Even Peggy said she couldn’t really see him when she lived here, and Buck said he’s never had someone s-see him like I do.” 

There is a double meaning in those words, perhaps, but Steve doesn’t want to think about that right now. 

“You need to rest,” Bucky speaks for the first time since Steve started telling his story. “You’re sick, and you look it. You ain’t doing yourself any favours.” 

Steve lets out a little breath and roll his eyes. Bucky could be such a mother hen. “I know. I’ll go rest soon. I’m fine for now.” Work hadn’t been too exhausting, but it was more that he’d normally do if he was trying to get rid of a cold before it got the best of him and became something nastier, like pneumonia or an infection.

“What?” Sam squints at him, confused. “I didn’t say anything.” 

“I know,” Steve nods tiredly. He suddenly felt drained, and he just wanted to take some medicine and curl up in bed, have Bucky sing him to sleep again. “Bucky just told me that I need to go rest ‘cause I’m sick. He...worries ‘bout me a lot.” 

Sam’s expression doesn’t change; his poker face rivalling even Nat’s. “I see.” He says finally. “So you’re the only one who can see _ and _hear him?” 

“Sometimes other people can hear him,” Steve argued. “It depends. Nat...almost heard him, I think. Peggy can. I know how that sounds, but just watch. I’ll prove to you I’m not crazy. Buck, can you turn on the kettle?” 

“What am I, your butler?” Bucky scoffs, but with a lazy wave of his hand, the stove and kettle both flick to life. 

Sam clenches his jaw, eyes tracking the movement, but Steve can see he’s still skeptical. 

“Buck, help me out here.” Steve pleads, eyes wide. “Gotta prove to him I ain’t crazy.” 

Bucky heaves out a long, put-upon sigh, but as always, he obliges Steve. He walks in a circle around the coffee table, his footsteps deliberately heavy. He slams all the doors in the apartment, he gets a mug out of the cupboard and sets it down beside the kettle. He puts a teabag in it and takes out the honey, probably just as much putting on a show as making a point that Steve needed to take care of himself and get some sleep. 

Sam watches all of this with the same blank expression. When the apartment quiets down again, with a serious face, he remarks, “So your ghost is Matilda?” 

Steve giggles at that, which turns into coughing, which results in Bucky cursing at him in one ear and Sam in the other, but he ignores them both in favour of catching his breath and wheezing until his coughs settled down enough to allow him a full inhale.

“Go to _ bed,” _Bucky grumbles unhappily, leaning against the kitchen counter and glaring at him through the threshold. “You need sleep.” 

Steve ignores him, turning back to Sam. “So, do you believe me now?” 

“I believe you,” Sam says softly, and Steve lets out a long breath. “I believe you, Steve. But...I have more questions than answers. If ghosts were real...we’d have encountered them by now. The Avengers. We kill too many people who would want to come back and get their revenge on us for us to have never seen the…” He waves a hand, “_undead _before.” 

“So you _ don’t _ believe me.” Steve says flatly. He hugs his knees into his chest and rests his chin on them. He tries not to let the disappointment settle in. He thinks he hears Bucky call Sam a rather unsavoury name from somewhere behind him. “I see.” 

“It’s not that,” He argues, shaking his head. “I believe you--you’re a terrible liar, and I just saw...uh, Bucky, do all that stuff. Hello, Bucky, by the way.” 

“Hi, bird boy.” Bucky says charmingly. Steve rolls his eyes. 

“He says hi.” 

Sam purses his lips. “I think there’s more going on here than a spirit haunting an apartment. There are just too many components. I need to look into it further.” 

Bucky frowned at Sam. “I think I’d know if I was something other than a ghost.” He protests, throwing his hands up in the air. “Look, we can debate later on what kind of monster I am. You need to take some meds and go to sleep.” 

“Stop fussin’ over me,” Steve grumbles under his breath. “We’re trying to help you.” 

“Has Bucky ever acted violently towards you?” Sam cut in. Steve is startled by the question, but Sam’s face is professionally blank. He’s asking the questions he needs to ask to allow him to sleep better at night. Steve knew he just wanted to make sure Steve was okay. 

“_Never,” _Steve says sharply, a bit hurt by the accusation. “And he never would. I trust Bucky, with my life, Sam. I know he’d never hurt me.” 

“Not intentionally, maybe. But if he can move all of those objects easily, then he could also easily hurt you.” 

Bucky glares at Sam now. “Listen here, asshole--” Bucky begins, but of course, Sam can’t hear him, and Steve interrupts. 

“Sam,” he says, trying to stay patient. “I’m safe. Bucky would never, ever hurt me.” 

Sam looks skeptical, but after a few moments, he nods. “Okay. But I still think there’s more at play here.” He ponders for a moment, then speaks again. “Bucky--” Sam addresses him directly, “What do you know about Hydra? You fought in the war, and that’s where Hydra had the strongest roots, since...since recently. Any information helps.” 

Steve had told Sam about Hydra kidnapping Bucky’s battalion during the war, but hadn’t detailed Hydra’s experiments--Peggy had told him that in confidence, and Steve didn’t feel it was necessary to share. Sam was smart, though, and Steve could see his gears grinding to connect the dots.

Bucky looks for a moment like he isn’t going to answer, but then he clenches his jaw tightly and blows air out of his nose. “They’re evil,” he says shortly. “That’s all I know.” 

“He said they’re evil,” Steve relays softly. “Look--he doesn’t like talking about Hydra, alright? And understandably so.” 

“Why understandably so?” Sam pries. _ Dammit, _Steve had said too much and he wasn’t going to let it go. 

Even Bucky didn’t know that Peggy had divulged his secrets of his time with Hydra. 

“I told you about Hydra kidnapping his men.” 

“What _ aren’t _ you telling me?” 

“Nothing!” 

“_Steve,” _Sam nearly growls. “Do not lie to me, not about something to do with Hydra, not at a time like this. I mean, who knows! Bucky could be some trick that Hydra planted here, did you ever think of that? Hydra loves to play games. They could’ve cooked him up in a lab somewhere and planted him here, hoping that you’d trust him enough to divulge information you get from the Avengers. Despite what you seem to think, he could hurt you, or--”

“Get out,” Steve says weakly, too tired to match the fire in Sam’s tone. 

“Steve--” He begins, but there is no hint of apology in his voice, and Steve didn’t expect one. 

He just needed space, and he needed it immediately. Accusing Bucky of being _‘cooked up in a lab by hydra_’ was hitting too close to home, and he needed Sam to go. This was Bucky's home just as much as it was his, and Bucky didn't deserve to have those kind of accusations thrown in his face in his own home. 

“Please, Sam, just leave. I’m sick. I’m tired, and I’m not going to sit here and listen to you accuse Bucky of being a monster. He’s _ good.” _

Sam stands to go, shaking his head as he does. “Look--I’m sorry. I snapped. You just--you trust too easily, man. That’s why I’m always worried about you.” 

“I’ll talk to you later.” Steve says quietly. He would forgive Sam, in time. But not tonight. He needed tonight to let the anger in, and to rest. To apologize to Bucky. “Just, go. Please.” 

And Sam does. 

The door slams behind him hard enough to rattle the pictures on the walls, and Steve buries his face in his hands, tears burning his eyes. “Dammit,” He sniffles. “Damn, damn, _damn._” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is "Dream a Little Dream of Me" by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong--it gives me the big Stucky feels. This is what Bucky sings to Steve as he sleeps in this chapter :) 
> 
> I'm SO excited to post the next chapter! Things are going to get steamy ;) 
> 
> Comment & Kudos are much appreciated<3


	8. What Could You Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Okay so, you may have noticed i've upped the rating for this fic to be "explicit" -- warning that this chapter does get steamy!! 
> 
> I just had a surgery on Monday, and am still recovering. I'm hoping this doesn't slow me down on uploads, but if it does, I apologize in advance. 
> 
> I would also like to give a gentle reminder that this fic is NOT BETA'd. It is full of grammar mistakes, spelling errors, yadda, yadda, yadda.  
That being said, I'd really appreciate NOT being corrected in the comments of this fic. I know there are errors everywhere in this fic, but it's really disappointing to read a comment that just points out flaws in my writing. It takes a lot of confidence to post something you've created online to an audience of strangers. So, please be kind :) I will delete comments that make me sad :( 
> 
> 99.9999999 percent of the comments have been LOVELY and I am so beyond thankful for each and every one of you that has taken the time to comment, read, and leave kudos. You're the reason I've continued posting/writing this fic. Your support means the WORLD to me!! 
> 
> Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy this chapter & I hope you're having a wonderful day <3
> 
> Please see the end of chapter notes for translations !

_"What could you do with those hands, my love?_   
_What could you do with those hands, my love?_   
_Could you make me something I've never seen before?_   
_Oh, God, I need to see something I've never seen before_

_What could you do with those lips, my love?_   
_What could you do with those lips, my love?_   
_There's so many things I could think of_   
_So many wonderful things I could think of_

_Breathe life into this corpse_   
_Drive him down to the bay_   
_Take his hand to the water and walk away_   
_Let him stand there for awhile_   
_Think about what to do_   
_Don't ask any questions when he comes back to you"_

_ \- Dolorean, "What Could You Do?" _

* * *

“Stevie,” Bucky interrupts quietly, kneeling before the blond from where he sat on the couch. Bucky wishes he could take Steve into his arms, or at least rub his back, hold his hand. Do something other that hover before him uselessly. “Hey, doll, you’re alright. I’m so sorry.” 

Seeing Steve fight with Sam like that unsettled Bucky. It woke something fiercely protective in him, a part of himself he always knew he had but could usually kept quieted down.

Until Steve. 

Seeing him this sad, this _ hurt, _it made Bucky want to chuck a lamp at Sam’s head. 

But at the same time, he knew Wilson had a point. Bucky _could_ hurt Steve, on purpose or otherwise. Sam had every right to be wary of him. If the roles were reversed, Bucky would have acted the same way. 

“You’re a goddamn idiot if you think you have anything to apologize for. I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Steve tucks his face into his hands again.

“It’s kinda true, though.” Bucky argued gently, looking up at Steve with kind eyes. He didn’t want his reasoning to make Steve more upset, but if he could do anything to ease the rift between Steve and Sam then he would. He knew how much all of Steve’s friends meant to him. “What your friend was saying.” 

Steve looks up from his hands, damp eyes searching Bucky’s face, beginning to cloud with anger. “What?” He questions. “Buck--I know you. I know your heart, and I trust you.” 

“I know that,” Bucky soothes, unable to help a small, sad smile. “But you see the good in everyone, doll. And you should know-- I-I _ am _ something Hydra cooked up in a lab.” There it was; the part of himself Bucky had been hiding from Steve. He didn’t want to ever look into those bright blue eyes and be met with horror. Fear. Loathing.

But he couldn’t lie. If Sam did any research at all into Bucky’s life in the war, he’d find his own conclusions about Bucky’s involvement with Hydra, and he was willing to bet it would be much worse coming from Wilson than it would be if Bucky came clean to Steve now. 

“Buck,” Steve is shaking his head. “No--”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs, interrupting him. “Look, there’s something about my history that--that I’ve never told you. I’ve never talked about it with anyone.” 

The look in Steve’s eyes is sad, and knowing. As he swallows, Bucky watches his Adam’s apple bob. 

“No, I. I know what you’re going to tell me, Buck. What they did to you….it was wrong. They hurt you, and they never should’ve had the chance to do that. No one should have to go through something so terrible. I’m so sorry that happened to you.” 

Bucky looks up sharply. Did Steve know? Had he done research of his own? “How did you--”

“When you disappeared, I went to talk to Peggy.” Steve sniffles, wiping angrily at his eyes. “I was so worried about you, so desperate for answers, I needed to talk to someone that knew you were real. She told me what Hydra did to you, when they captured you battalion. Please don’t be mad.” 

Mad? At Steve? Steve was a stubborn punk, a flat out fiery Irish blond with bird bones and a set jaw, and he could poke and prod at Bucky until the cows came home, but Bucky doesn’t think he could ever be _ mad _at Steve, not really. Not for longer than a few moments. 

“Couldn’t ever be mad at you, sweetheart,” Bucky croons, shaking his head. He reaches his hand up to catch one of Steve’s falling tears, but drops it again into his lap, remembering that the gesture would do no good--he was nothing but mist. “I’m sorry you didn’t hear it from me, first. I didn’t know how to tell you. I,” He shrugs softly. “I didn’t want you to think any differently of me.” 

Bucky was ashamed to admit it out-loud. It felt foolish to do so. Steve had been nothing but honest with him, letting Bucky see parts of himself that are still open, raw wounds. His grief for his mother, his pain over his friends dangerous lives, his loneliness and worry that he’d never amount to anything that would make his mother proud. Bucky had no right to do any different. 

“I could never. You’re _ not _ a monster.” Steve spits the word out like its a curse. “You are a lot of things, Bucky Barnes, but a monster ain’t one of them. You couldn’t be, even if you tried. Sam doesn’t know you like I do.” 

“I wish that were true,” Bucky whispers sadly. “More than anything.” 

Steve’s anger bubbles, Bucky can see it in his face and his body language, the way his muscles coil as if tensing for a fight. “They experimented on you--but you’re still a good man,” Steve says sharply, as if growling out the words would make Bucky more inclined to believe them. “People who get kidnapped and tortured aren’t the bad guys Buck. They’re the victims.” 

“They _broke_ me,” Bucky says, so quietly his voice could barely be made out over the New York hum of traffic and life outside the apartment windows. “I let them break me. I wasn’t strong.” 

“You’re strong now,” Steve argues in a desperate tone. “_Look _at me, Bucky.” 

Bucky does, meeting those fierce blue eyes, eyes that didn’t have an ounce of fear to spare for Bucky, not a hint of loathing or disgust to be detected. There was only intense righteousness, like Steve should be ranting about world peace or world hunger, or something equally as large and just. 

“You are _ strong. _You overcame what they did to you. You did what a lot of men couldn’t. You took the evil they did, and you turned it into good.”

Bucky wishes that were true. He doesn’t remember a lot about the war, fragments here and there, pieces. He remembers his time as a Hydra captive well. He relieved it often, after he escaped and rejoined the rest of his battalion. 

Needles, and laughing, and cold metal at his back. Pen scratching into paper, sharp hands slapping his cheeks. Knives carving out his torso, testing his healing abilities. 

Bucky also knew there was more to his story. There was a darkness in him, that he couldn’t place. He didn’t know where it originated, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that his time being captured was not the last he’d ever seen of Hydra, or they of him.

Where did he go when he lost days at a time from this place? Why did he speak and read Russian fluently? Why did he survey all entrances and exits of the apartment multiple times a day? 

Was it the war still lingering in him, or something else entirely? 

What bitterness in his chest had chased all the other tenants from the apartment? What evil in his heart had decided they weren’t worthy of it? 

And why, after years of chasing any contact away, did Steve make a place for himself in Bucky’s apartment, in his life, and God forbid, his black heart? What was it about this golden boy that had changed Bucky so much in the time they’d spent together? 

He was stronger. He was remembering things he never had before. He could be heard, and _ seen. _

Steve was wrong. 

Bucky didn’t take the hurt and turn it into goodness. He was a bitter man for many, many years. 

Steve is the one who saved him. 

“Buck?” Steve prompts, interrupting his inner spiralling. Steve reaches out his hands to grab Bucky’s, but they pass through each other, separated by laws and curses they didn’t understand. 

The devastation and embarrassment--guilt, even--is clear on Steve’s face as he snatches his hands back.

“I’m sorry,” He says quickly. “I forgot--”

Bucky looks down at his hands, his useless hands. 

Hands that could once shoot a gun, could caress a cheek, could punch a smart mouth. Hands that now were worthless in their not-there state. Hands that couldn’t even wipe a tear from Steve’s eye or brush his hair back from his face. Couldn’t even hold his hand. 

He clenches them into fists and looks back up at Steve, who watches him with a broken expression, as if he could read everything Bucky was thinking.

“Take some medication and then head to bed,” Bucky murmurs gently, desperate for a change in topic. He gets to his feet, not looking at Steve. “Okay?” 

Bucky can tell that Steve wants to argue more, until he sees that Bucky really believes him, but there is exhaustion written all over his face and body, and Bucky knows he’ll be obliged. 

Steve doesn't reply, but he trudges to the bathroom, bare feet padding on the hardwood floor.

His medicine cabinet was fully stocked, ready for any ailment that might become him. He wipes at his eyes, and doesn’t let another tear fall. 

Bucky shuffles quietly behind him, feeling useless. 

Steve rifles through his medicine cabinet for a moment before settling on a bottle of pills. "These should help me sleep," He sighed tiredly, as he downs them with a mouthful of water from the tap. The label read _Nighttime Cold & Flu. _Bucky was satisfied to see that the medication promised to help. 

Bucky watches with a worried expression, tracking every movement. He hates seeing Steve like this, sick and run down, mentally and physically worn out. 

Steve washes his face and brushes his teeth while Bucky leans against the door frame of the bathroom. It wasn’t fair that Steve looked beautiful even in the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom. Bucky can't look away.

“Happy?” Steve mutters dryly, heading out of the bathroom and flicking the light off. 

“Ecstatic.” 

“Good.” 

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?” Bucky suggests, tilting his head. Bucky tries not to overthink the fact that he said _ let’s _ go to bed, and not _ you _should go to bed. They had reached a level of comfort with each other that was unsafe. It was edging at something that would break both their hearts.

Steve held a hand to his head. “My head is pounding,” He pouts quietly. 

“Those meds you took should kick in soon, doll,” Bucky soothes with a sympathetic smile. “Sleep will help.” 

From the way Steve’s eyelids were already beginning to droop, Bucky was sure the nighttime medicine would make Steve a little drowsy, if not a lot. 

Steve heads towards his bedroom, clumsily shedding his sweater and jeans, leaving him in only his boxer briefs. Bucky watches the line of his spine, the sharp jut of it, wants to trace his fingers down it, then his mouth. 

Bucky is grateful that Steve doesn’t notice the hungry way Bucky eyes him up, head to toe, as he shuffles to bed. He doesn’t mean to, but it was impossible not to look; Steve was beautiful. 

“Easy, Ace,” Bucky mutters, as Steve hastily throws himself into his bed, laying on top of the covers. “You should put on some...some pj’s or somethin’.” Bucky cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to be a gentleman and look away. The briefs were a second skin, and left little to the imagination. 

Steve usually slept in large t shirts that came down to his knees. It wasn’t fair of him, really, when he must know how adorable he looks in them. It makes Bucky’s heart squeeze each time. 

Bucky wasn’t sure where Steve _ got _the t shirts, but he was surprised to find a little bit of jealousy blooming in his sternum when Steve gets out of bed to lazily tug one over his head. 

It was a light heather grey, with a Falcon symbol on it. 

Willson’s, then?

“Better,” Steve sighs contently, and climbs into bed once more. 

“You got a lot of those t shirts, don’tcha?” Bucky teases, with an edge of seriousness. Maybe there was a history there that Bucky had missed. Steve had been so distraught when he and Sam fought, perhaps there was more to it. 

“Mhm,” Steve nods tiredly, eyelids drooping. He pulls the covers up to his chin and snuggles down into bed. Bucky was glad to see that the tension that had built up in Steve's shoulders after the confrontation with Wilson had faded. Steve looked more relaxed, now. “Stole ‘em from Sam.” 

Bucky nods, he'd assumed as much. But there was still something on his mind. 

“You and Sam...did you guys ever?” He arches a brow suggestively, sitting on the edge of Steve’s desk. Steve, from his bed, grins wickedly, pushing himself up on his elbows to watch Bucky's face. His nose is red from running and his face is paler than usual, but he looks so damn adorable it _hurts_. It really ain’t fair.

“_Me _ and _ Sam?” _Steve gapes, covering his mouth. “You’re kidding!”

“You don’t gotta answer,” Bucky grumbles dryly. Jeez. Steve was having a field day with this one, hunched over and laughing out loud. 

“Me and _Sam_!” Steve exclaims again, and Bucky was kinda sure that whatever medication Steve took, it was making him a little loopy. “Yeah, right! Sam is a great guy, but he ain’t my type.” 

“What is, then?” Bucky is intrigued immediatly by that line of conversation. He knows he ought to back off, stop asking questions that fed his hunger for Steve. They’d talked about this, about dancing in the moonlight and _ sweetheart _ and _ doll... _things were getting messy between them. The lines were blurring more and more each day. Not to mention, Steve needed sleep. Still, though, Bucky was only a man. He couldn't help it. “Your type?” 

Steve quiets down, then, and studies Bucky closely. “I don’t know exactly.” He says softly, and Bucky can tell he’s being honest. “Never had a boyfriend. Don’t really have enough experience to know what I like, I guess.” 

“But you’ve been on dates,” Bucky says. It’s not really a question, but he wants confirmation. He can’t imagine that the answer is _ no. _With a face like that, Bucky would have assumed Steve to be very popular with all sorts of people. 

“Three. All different people.” 

Bucky blanches. “You’re kidding. You’ve only been on _ three dates _in your entire life?” It seemed impossible. Steve was dorky, sure, but he was also...what did they call them? A twink. Yeah, Steve was a perfect twink, with the big doe eyes and slender body, the sharp attitude. 

The things Bucky would do to him, if he could...he’d have Steve screaming for more, he’d have him _begging_ for it. He would learn Steve's body, all the things that make him arch his back and moan..and then he'd do those things, over and over and over. 

And...he’d play with his hair and kiss his fingertips and sing him to sleep. He wanted it all. It seemed impossible that no one else looked at Steve and thought the same thing. 

It was all Bucky _ could _think about, staring into those big blue eyes. 

And yet--it was everything he could never have.

“They ain’t exactly lining up for me like Peggy said they did for you,” Steve rolls his eyes and snuggles deeper into the bed. He doesn’t seem bothered by the topic of conversation, or saddened by the lack of romantic attention in his life. He mostly looked amused about the whole thing. Maybe it was something in Bucky’s face that Steve found entertaining. 

Bucky snorts. “It’s all a matter of practice, young grasshopper.” He teases. Peggy wasn’t wrong; in his day, Bucky had five or six girls on his plate at any given time, and even spent time with men when he could sneak away out of the public prying eye. “You just don’t know how to flirt.” 

Steve scoffs, insulted. “_Do so_.” 

“Nah. S’okay, though, you’re cute enough that you make up for it.” 

“I--it’s not--” Steve stammers, and then gives up. He pulled the blankets up to his nose and growls, “I am. Not. Cute.” 

That only makes him look cuter, of course, if such a thing were possible, and Bucky’s grin widens in a wicked way. 

Steve’s glare intensifies. It was enough to make birds dropout of the sky, but it's accompanied by a bright red blush. 

“You are adorable, kitten. Really.” 

Steve huffs, his eyes narrowing. “I am a grown ass man.” 

“An unfairly cute one,” Bucky shrugs, very matter-of-fact. “Not your fault. You can’t help it.”

“_Shuddup_.” 

Bucky chuckles. “Alright, alright. S’late, I’ll stop blabbing and let you get some rest.” He could tell that Steve was exhausted. 

"Yeah," Steve agrees, and then goes silent for a few moments. Minutes pass and Bucky settles down on the desk, waiting for Steve's breathing to even out--but it doesn't. 

Steve lowers the blankets off of his face in a frustrated movement, and then kicks them off his entire body with a frustrated movement. “Buck,” he whines softly. “S’hot in here,” 

Bucky smiles fondly. He’d been doing a lot of that lately. "You want me to open the window?" He murmurs, only teasing, only to hear that Steve wanted something else. Wanted him. 

"No," Steve stammers, "I--" 

He knew, without Steve having to say it, what Steve was asking for. He was just being difficult, just to hear that desire creep into Steve's voice. It was wrong of him, maybe, but he couldn't help himself. Flirting had been second nature to him once, and that part of him was coming back more and more every day, with Steve. He'd do anything to see that flustered look cross Steve's face. “M’coming,” Bucky croons, standing to get in bed with Steve. 

“Jeez. Scoot over, will ya? You’re like 5 foot nothin’ and you’re hoggin’ the whole bed,” Bucky scoffs, settling down. 

“Whaddya gonna do? Squish me?” Steve dares in a tired voice. “With what body?” 

“Ouch, Rogers, that stung,” Bucky pretends to be hurt, but he’s grinning. Steve scoots over anyways, and Bucky slides in beside him. 

“Mmm,” Steve murmurs, curling into Bucky, looking like he feels instant relief. His eyes slide shut, his lashes casting dark shadows down his cheeks. “S’nice, Buck. You feel good.” 

Bucky’s mind could go a lot of dark places with that statement, but instead he presses his lips together and wraps an arm over Steve. Steve, of course, can’t feel it, but Bucky knows he feels the relief of the cool air, and Bucky feels the comfort of Steve's warmth, chasing away the cold.

“You’re burnin’ up, sweetheart,” Bucky frets, feeling the heat radiating off of Steve from his fever. It seared through Bucky. 

“Mhm,” Steve murmurs, nuzzling closer. “Tell me, Buck. If things were different…” 

“Yeah?” Bucky prompts, closing his eyes, pretending he had some hope of dreaming, of finding a place where he and Steve could fall into each other's arms with ease. “What is it, doll?”

“If things were different, what would you do right now...” 

“Hmm?” Bucky opens his eyes again, startled by the question, but Steve is already asleep, his breathing deep and even, albeit through parted lips since his nose was stuffed. His fingers flexed and relaxed, as if reaching for Bucky unconsciously. 

Bucky lets out a long breath. “I'd hold you," Bucky whispers, pressing the invisible line of his lips to Steve's head, "I'd hold you all night long.” 

* * *

_ “You’re being so good, baby. Just like that,” Bucky’s voice croons, encouraging Steve along. _

_ Steve continues happily, bobbing his head around a thick mouthful of Bucky’s cock, enjoying the heavy weight of it in his mouth, savouring Bucky’s hand knotted in his hair, holding on tightly. “Fuck, Steve.” _

_ Steve pops off with a satisfying noise, and blinks up at Bucky with thick lashes, a slow smile playing at his lips. He licks the taste of Bucky off his mouth with a slow, content movement. _

_ Bucky looks destroyed, hair falling in his face, pupils blown wide with desire. He pants down at Steve and licks his lips, clearly enjoying the site of the blond on his knees before him. His cheeks were flushed and sweat glistened down his bare chest. _

_ “Jesus, Ace, it’s gotta be some kinda sin, you lookin’ up at me like that.” he breathes thickly. “Ain’t as innocent as I thought.” _

_ Steve bats his lashes wickedly. Innocent, he was not, and he couldn’t wait to prove it. Steve was a quick learner. “Are you going to stand there gawking at me, or are you going to fuck me?” _

_ Bucky gets a dark glint in his eyes then, taking the bratty note in Steve’s voice to mean that he had something to prove. He leverages his bulk to easily pull Steve to his feet, and crowds him against the wall of Steve’s bedroom, pressing their bodies together from chest to knee. _

_ Bucky’s body was warm, and rock-solid. It was all encompassing, completely surrounding Steve. “You want to be fucked, hmm?” Bucky breathes, kissing a line down Steve’s neck. _

_ Steve’s head spins with the heady scent of Bucky filling the air, with the sheer desire in the pit of his belly. “Please,” He whimpers, his bravado out the window, too distracted with desire to keep up pretences. He felt like he’d been waiting forever, and he knew what he needed. “Buck, please, I need it. I’ve been so good,” he pleads. _

_ Bucky hums gently, arms wrapping around Steve and sliding them under his ass, easily lifting him. Steve wraps his legs around Bucky’s hips and his arms around Bucky’s neck, holding on more for comfort than necessity--Bucky’s got him, his weight is no burden. _

_ “I’ll take care of you,” Bucky promises. “I want to do this right, kitten. I wanna make you feel good.” Bucky places Steve on his back on the bed, and Steve watches helplessly as Bucky kisses a trail down Steve’s chest, landing finally at his cock, swollen and red, dripping with pre come. _

_ “Buck,” Steve whispers, forgetting all other words. He was getting impatient. “Bucky…” _

_ “S’okay,” Bucky murmurs, licking a hot line up Steve’s cock, from the base of the shaft to the head. Steve slams his head back into the bed, dizzy with want and already writhing. He didn’t care much for this kind of foreplay right now, as amazing as it felt, he was already so high strung with desire, he just wanted Bucky inside him. _

_ “I just need your cock in me,” Steve whines, as Bucky starts to lap lazily at his balls, getting lower to Steve’s hole, which flexed and twitched around Bucky’s able tongue. “I don’t have the p-patience to wait, Buck, please. I just need it.” _

_ When Bucky slides in a finger, Steve needs to bite into his hand to keep from screaming out in frustration. It wasn’t _ enough, _ he needed more, and Bucky was taking forever-- _

_ “Please!” Steve nearly screamed. He was ready--he didn’t know why Bucky was torturing him like this. “God, Bucky, please just fuck me, please, Buck, I’ll do anythin’ you want, I’ll be so good, I’ll--” _

_ It was torture. His cock was painfully hard and dripping, desperate to be touched, desperate for relief, and Bucky wouldn’t give it to him, he just kept one finger in him, curled slightly, lapping lazily at Steve with no sense of hurry or finale. _

_ Steve was sobbing, clutching the sheets and writhing with need, when he hears Bucky’s voice, sounding more startled than it had before, less husky and aroused and more concerned. _

“Steve?” _ Bucky asks, but the Bucky between his legs doesn’t flinch, just keeps kissing and licking. Steve sobs helplessly. _

_ “Bucky, please,” Steve sobs. “Please, please.” _

“Stevie, hey, wake up. You’re havin’ a bad dream.” 

_ “I need it,” Steve cries. “Q-Quit teasin’ me.” _

“Steve!” The voice is finally loud enough that it pulls Steve from his slumber, and his eyes fly open to see Bucky hovering over him, his face slightly red and eyes worried. 

“Buck,” Steve pants, pushing himself up onto his elbows. His face is wet from tears, and his cock is painfully hard between his legs. He blinks around, disoriented. He felt as though the room were spinning wildly around him. He says the only word he feels he’ll ever know: “Bucky,” 

“You were havin’ a bad dream, sweetheart,” Bucky breathes, his tone uneven. “Or, ah, a good dream, I guess, depending on how you wanna look at it.” 

In Steve’s fever induced haze, he can’t really register the mortification that he probably should be feeling. The desire is still thick in his belly, his dream so vivid that he can practically still taste Bucky on his tongue. He writhes a little with the need, unable to keep his hips still. 

“Was a good dream,” Steve croaked, voice hoarse. He blinks dreamily up at Bucky through damp lashes, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, remembering the way Bucky had watched him in his dream as he swallowed a mouthful of his cock. “_Really_ good.” 

“Yeah?” Bucky murmured, eyes curious and intrigued. He’s lying beside Steve, same as they were when Steve fell asleep, but he rolls to prop himself up on an elbow, facing Steve completely. Bucky’s chest is moving quickly with his erratic breathing. 

Steve shifts a little, and the movement jostles his erection, making him bite his lip. He wanted to just get up and go to the bathroom to finish it off, he _ needed _release, but with Bucky around it made privacy difficult. It would be too obvious if he tried to get up now. 

“I should be more embarrassed.” Steve admits in a low voice, though he doesn’t feel the shame come as he probably ought to. “I know I should be.” 

“I don’t think so. I’m not about to judge a fella for his dreams,” Bucky wets his lips. His pupils are blown wide, making his eyes look almost black. “Do you...want to tell me about it?” 

Steve hesitates, his heart somewhere in his throat. “I don’t know,” he murmurs, unable to look away from Bucky’s black eyes. “I shouldn’t.”

“Whatever it was about, it was just a dream, right? So it doesn’t count for real life.” Bucky gives him a playful smile, but it falls short of being blase. Bucky was nervous. “You can tell me, if you want. But you don’t gotta.” 

“It was about y-you,” Steve admits, trying to gauge Bucky’s reaction. Would he be disgusted? Intrigued? Aroused? “Y-You were going to...” Steve trails off, unsure. He clears his throat. 

Bucky's lips part. “What was I going to do, doll?” 

Steve blinks up at him with large blue eyes. He forgets how to breathe for a moment. 

“You,” Steve swallows, remembering. “You were g-gonna, uh. Fuck me.” He can’t imagine his face could get any hotter. He hides his face in the pillow, not wanting to look at Bucky after confessing. He knew this heat wasn’t because of his fever. He can't seem to keep his hips still, either, wishing he had something to grind into, something to provide friction, release. 

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to gasp. Steve watches through one eye as Bucky’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, making them glisten in the faint moonlight of Steve’s room. “Jesus, Steve,” Bucky almost groans. “Can’t just say stuff like that,” 

Steve turns his face away again. “I know,” he admits quietly, feeling his cheeks get hot, a blush that spreads all the way down to his neck and chest. “I’m just...going to go shower.” He was mortified. He’d already said too much. 

“Wait,” Bucky stops him, shaking his head. “I meant...you can’t just stay stuff like that because it's,” Bucky blinks. “It’s downright sinful--in the best way possible.” 

_ Sinful. _Bucky had called Steve sinful in Steve’s dream, and Steve had lapped up the attention then. He blinks drowsily at Bucky, enjoying the sight of his blown pupils, his red lips. 

He..._wanted_ Steve. Sinful didn’t mean that what they were doing was bad, or wrong, but...tempting. 

Bucky was tempted by Steve--Bucky _ wanted _him. 

“Buck,” Steve whispers. He’s body _ hurts _with how badly he wants this, and with the knowledge that they’d never have it. 

Bucky couldn’t touch Steve, after all, not like he really wanted to. He craved his touch so desperately it felt like he was going to explode from the lack of contact.

“You think about me fucking you a lot?” Bucky is quick to ask. There is no shyness in his voice, nothing self conscious about the way he stares intensely into Steve’s eyes. Bucky was just as into it as Steve was, and that thought alone made Steve bite back a moan. 

He couldn’t imagine why someone as handsome as Bucky would be interested in someone like Steve, but it sent a shock through him. He wanted more. He felt like he would die if he didn’t get it.

“I,” Steve blinks fast. He doesn’t know how to navigate this, he’s burning with desire and he wants so badly to kiss Buck, to _ feel _ him. “I want you.” Steve pleads, though he knows there is nothing he or Bucky can do about their predicament.

“I would be good to you, Stevie,” Bucky promises, speaking in a deep, husky voice. His eyes are hungry. “I would take it slow, but not too slow. I wouldn’t make you cry, doll, not like that, like in your dream. I’d take care of you, I’d give you what you need. I’d give you everything.” 

Steve’s lips part, hanging on Bucky’s every word. His cock is hot and heavy between his legs, begging to be touched. 

He believes Bucky; Bucky always gave Steve exactly what he needed. He always took care of Steve, he would give him what he needed. He would make it feel _ so _perfect. “Y-Yeah?” 

Steve had never had a cock in his ass before; the farthest he’d ever gone with someone was a blowjob, and even that was only once, and while he was pretty sure he did an _ okay _job, considering the guy finished fairly quickly, Steve was eager to learn more. 

Imagining Bucky fucking him, Bucky shoving his cock between Steve’s lips--

“Mm,” Bucky tells him, more of a growl than anything else. “I bet you would look so damn pretty with my cock in your mouth, Stevie. Those big blue eyes just blinking up at me, being so good for me...you would take it nice and deep, gettin’ your lips all red and swollen, wouldn’t ya?” 

“Mhm,” Steve agrees. It’s hard to make coherent thoughts. All Steve could think about was his desire for Bucky, his _ need _for him. Steve’s hand creeps down to his cock, just slightly, before Steve remembered himself, and stops. 

Bucky, though, tracked the movement, and nodded his head, curls falling into his face. “Touch yourself, sweetheart. I wanna see.” 

Steve ran his tongue across his lips, but didn’t hesitate, not caring how strange things would be in the morning. All he knew was that he wanted relief, and he wanted Bucky to talk him through it. It would be so easy to let go, with that honey sweet voice in his ear. It was what Steve needed.

He tugged his briefs down and let his cock spring free, not wasting another second to get a hand wrapped around himself, moaning obscenely when he finally does, not caring who heard, least of all Bucky. 

“Look at that sweet little cock,” Bucky croons, voice uneven with desire. “Jesus, Steve, you’re so fucking perfect, you know that?” 

“Buck,” Steve groans, working himself with one hand, the other hand coming from his mouth to pinch at his nipple, wishing his hands couple be replaced by Bucky’s. “Talk to me,” Steve pleads, stroking his cock in a tight grip. “Please, Bucky, I-I need you--” 

“I got you, doll. I’m right here,” Bucky soothes, and his hand hovers at Steve’s chest, before drawing back again. He couldn’t touch Steve, and it was killing them both. “Pretty little nipples, too. God, what I’d do to get my mouth on those. Make you squirm.” 

Steve’s hips jerk into his hand, eyes screwing shut in pleasure. Bucky’s voice was so low, dripping with desire, and Steve would have done _ anything _in that moment to have Bucky’s solid hands on him. For now, though, his voice was doing enough. It was driving him wild with need.

Bucky moves his hand again, this time placing it over Steve’s other nipple, the coolness of it making his nipple rock hard. Steve whimpers at the temperature, arching into it as though he could force himself to really feel Bucky there.

“I wish you could touch me,” Steve nearly sobs, turning his face into Bucky’s not-there chest. There is something tender about it, Bucky talking Steve along as he chases release, Bucky soothing him and calling him _ perfect. _Steve had never been called that before. 

As sweet as it is, it’s intensely bitter. They could never have each other in the way they both desperately wanted.

“Me too, angel.” Bucky croons, sounding wrecked. “God, me too. You’d be so sweet under me, I’d kiss every inch of you--”

“Yes,” Steve breathe, his hand working faster. His eyes are shut so tightly he sees stars behind his eyelids. He was honest to god _ wet, _pre-come making his hand slip up and down with ease, his balls tightening with the pleasure of it all, toes curling. “Oh my god, Buck, don’t stop, please--”

“Say my name,” Bucky’s husky voice groans. There is a darkness, a level of command to the way Bucky says it that makes Steve want to bare his throat. “Say it, Stevie. Scream it.” 

“_Bucky,” _ Steve moans, writhing, unable to hold still. “God, Buck, the things you _ do _to me--”

Bucky is breathing hard along with Steve, sounding just as affected as the blond was. “Jesus, Steve, look at you, you’re so fucking beautiful, just like that--yeah, you’re doing so good baby. You're almost there, just a little faster, yeah? That's it, honey--”

“I’m--I’m going to, Buck--” Steve’s movements get more desperate. He can’t form coherent sentences anymore, he’s so _ close, _his toes curling, legs locked, chest tight. “I’m--”

“Yeah, c’mon, baby, come for me, doin’ so good, wanna get my hands on you--”

Steve comes with a deep groan of “God, ah--_ Bucky,” _on his lips, spilling into his hand. He pants hard as the aftershocks hit him--he couldn’t remember the last time touching himself had felt this good. The release drained everything out of Steve’s body. 

“Buck,” Steve repeats, softer, quieter. He steadies his breathing, coming down from the high slowly. What he wouldn’t give to roll over and curl up warm and safe in Bucky’s arms. 

“I’m here, baby. Not leaving you,” Bucky croons. Steve feels comfortably loose, and safe, Bucky’s cool presence just enough to keep the fever and sweat at bay. “We gotta get you cleaned up, yeah?” 

“Mmm.” Steve’s thoughts are no longer coherent, his eyelids getting heavy with sleep already. He’s sure that whatever Bucky is saying is relevant, but he can’t bring himself to connect the dots between the words. Too much effort. “Tired,”

Bucky somehow produces a towel, placing it on the bed beside Steve. Steve doesn’t care how, the details don’t matter to his foggy head. “Clean up, honey, then you can get some rest.” 

Steve doesn’t want to move, but he obliges because it’s Bucky insisting. He wipes himself up with slow, languid movements that Bucky tracks hungrily. 

When Steve is satisfied with the results, he tosses the towel aside to be an issue for tomorrow and turns his face and body into the shell of Bucky’s, closing his eyes tight and pretending that he could feel the rise and fall of Bucky’s chest. 

“Wish you could hold me,” Steve says softly. Steve had been doing a lot of wishing, lately. 

“Ты мой спаситель.” Bucky replies. There is something sad in his tone, but Steve is too tired to think about that. For now, he feels content, safe. “Goodnight, angel. Sweet dreams.” 

Looking back, this would be the last Good Night Steve had for a long, long time. The last Perfect night, curled up in the whisper of Bucky’s embrace, body limp with pleasure, mind put at ease by Bucky’s voice humming in his ear. 

The thing about the best moments, is that you don’t know they’re going to be the best moments until they’ve already passed.

So for now, Steve shut his eyes tight and imagined a million more nights, even more perfect than this one. Steve was still Innocent. He was still in the Not Knowing. 

Above the two men, above the apartment where their hearts were slowly becoming one, the stars whispered their secrets, and the first snow of the year began to fall, covering New York City with a hush like no other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We FINALLY get a little bit of STEAM!!!!!!!!!! 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, comments & kudos are much appreciated :)  
You can find me on tumblr as 'wincestplease' and you can yell at me there about this fic or anything at all if you'd like :) 
> 
> This chapters song was "What Could You Do" by Dolorean--I highly recommend you give it a listen. In my opinion, it suits this fic pretty well :) It's also just a haunting and beautiful song :) 
> 
> Cheers!!
> 
> TRANSLATIONS: 
> 
> Ты мой спаситель = You are my saviour


	9. Fade Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A big secret about Bucky is revealed; Steve tries to reconcile his friends to see reason. Steve and Bucky strike a deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning that this chapter is angsty !! Brief mention of torture, not descriptive.

"_It ain't no wonder why we lose control_  
_When we're always heart attack away from falling in love_  
_Well, I know that we've been hardly holding on_  
_To tell the truth, I can't believe we got this far_  
_Running near on empty_  
_I wish somebody would've told me_

_That I'd end up so caught up in need of your demons_   
_That I'd be lost without you leading me astray_   
_Guess that I'm a fool for the way that you caught me_   
_Girl, you make my heart break more every day_   
_But don't fade away"_

-"Fade", Lewis Capaldi 

* * *

Steve wakes up slowly, lazily, feeling the heady weight of his cold as soon as his eyes were fully open. His nose was stuffed, his throat ached, but besides that, not much else mattered. 

He blinks blearily up at his ceiling, and enjoys the few blissful seconds where his mind is completely blank, not thinking of anything at all, simply revelling in the stretch of his muscles and the comfort of his bed--

And then he remembered.

Steve shoots up in bed like a rocket, into a sitting position, mouth gaping as he stares at the soiled towel from last night--proof that what had happened wasn’t just an extension of his dream. 

It was real.

“Oh, my god.” Steve whispers to himself, a hand coming to cover his mouth. _Jesus Christ. _

He’d really done that--he’d _touched_ himself, in front of Bucky, _ to _thoughts of Bucky. Bucky had seen everything. Had talked him through it. Watched Steve come. Cleaned him up.

There was no way things could go back to normal between them now; Steve had ruined everything. 

Bucky isn't in his room, which probably means he's upset about what had happened last night. In a moment of lust, of weakness, Steve had pushed their fragile hearts into something they weren’t ready to talk about. 

A sense of dread washes over him. _What had he done? _

“Buck?” Steve calls, coughing weakly into his elbow. There was no way he’d make it into work today--he’d have to call in. His vision was blurry even as he pushed his glasses onto his face, and his voice is hoarse from his aching throat. “You ‘round?” 

The apartment is silent, and Steve tries not to let the panic settle in. Bucky could just be wanting space after what happened last night, which was normal.

Space, Steve could handle. He couldn’t handle absence. 

Steve grabs his phone to check the time, seeing he had 7 missed calls from Nat and 3 from Sam. Clint had texted him twice. They were mostly from last night. Steve had fallen asleep early, needing the rest from his fever, but it probably meant his friends were worried about why he hadn’t gotten back to them yet.

[9:03pm] Clint says: _ Hey, Sam talked to Nat & I about your ghost situation. We need to talk. _

[9:06pm] Clint says: _ It’s big. _

[11:13pm] Clint says: _ Steve we’re worried. Text me back. _

The group chat also had messages that were demanding Steve’s attention. 

[6:03am] Sam to ‘Pizza Party’: _ We need to meet up at some point today. If you don’t answer, we’re coming over. Need to check if you’re still alive. _

Steve rubs his eyes under his glasses. Dammit, it was too early for this. Not wanting his friends to worry, he types out a quick message in their group chat. 

[8:21am] Steve to ‘Pizza Party: _ I’m fine guys, relax. _

[8:23am] Steve to ‘Pizza Party’: _ I’m sorry if I worried you i went to bed early--I’m sick. Slept in, too. _

Not even two minutes later, Natasha responds. 

[8:24am] Nat to ‘Pizza Party’: _ We need to talk. When are you free? _

That was never a good message. 

[8:26am] Steve to ‘Pizza Party’: _ Sick in bed, called into work. Today isn’t good for me. _

Steve couldn’t deal with the ‘ghost talk’ today. He didn’t want to answer questions or prove himself. The urgency in the text messages wasn’t registering with Steve; he was delirious with his fever and too worried about memories of last night to think about what his friends might want to tell him. 

[8:30am] Sam to ‘Pizza Party’: _ I did some research on your ghost. I searched his name through Hydra files, and it isn’t good. This is serious, Steve. _

[8:33am] Sam to ‘Pizza Party’: _ There is more going on here than you think. _

Steve blinks at his phone. It was an ominous message, one that leaves him confused and wanting to know more. 

What could they have found out about Bucky that Steve didn’t already know?

He decides not to answer right away. He wanted to talk to Bucky, and apologize for last night, to make sure things were good between them. Then, after that, if Steve was still up to whatever daunting conversation awaited him, he would message them back.

Remembering last night, Steve’s face flushed with heat. Bucky had been so sweet, so kind--he’d talked Steve through it, made sure he cleaned up afterwards...and God, Steve remembered just how badly he wished it could’ve been Bucky’s real hands on him. The desire had been a monster in the pit of his belly, the fire burning him up from the inside out.

Slowly, Steve gets out of bed, his muscles aching as he does so, sore from the sickness that plagued him and the chilly New York Air that wandered in through the old, drafty windows. Looking outside, Steve saw that it had snowed last night. The streets were covered in a thin blanket of white.

“Buck,” He calls, as he gets out, his heart beating loudly in his ears. “Can we please talk?” 

There was still no answer as Steve shuffled his bunny-slippered feet into the kitchen. There was no coffee or tea waiting, there was no handsome soldier lounging around waiting for him. 

Steve’s heart sinks. _ No. _

“Bucky?” He tries, voice small. He already knows, in his heart, that Bucky is not here. He can feel the emptiness, the hollowness. The apartment is void of his presence. Of course, there is no reply. 

Steve is alone.

“Dammit,” Steve exhales slowly with a little cough, staring up at the ceiling. His eyes sting with tears as he tries hard to blink them away. He feels small. Stupid. “_Dammit_.” 

Bucky was gone, and Steve didn’t know how long he’d be gone for. Steve wasn’t sure where they stood with each other, but he knew that there was something boiling inside him, a static between him and Bucky. 

In Steve’s chest, there was a new kind of warmth for Bucky that had absolutely no right to be there, but wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. 

He scrubs a hand through his hair, and trudges to the shower with slow, shuffling movements, accepting his doomed fate.

\-------

Post-shower, Steve is curled up on his couch swaddled in two blankets, wearing track pants and a large hoodie. The shower had helped him to feel a little better, but his breath was still wheezing more than he liked and his nose ran freely--he’d have to nurse the cold a little longer before he’d be back to full health. 

He watched Netflix with a blank mind, ignoring his phone which was blaring with text messages from his friends. He didn’t think about what Natasha, Sam and Clint had dug up, or when--if--Bucky would return. He doesn’t think about anything.

He eats frozen pizza and drinks lots of water. He calls it self-care. 

Around noon, there is a knock at his door, at the same time his phone starts ringing. 

Steve blinks sleepily at his phone, unhappily aroused from his Netflix-coma. The call is from Sam.

Dread fills Steve to the brim--he knew what this meant. The knock at the door was familiar, and Steve knew his friends were here. 

“Hello,” Steve answers the phone flatly. The knocking at the door stops. He is displeased.

“It’s us. Let us in, please.” 

Steve stares at his door with a frown. If he refused them, it was more than likely Natasha would just pick the lock and let herself in. With a dramatic eye-roll that no one else is around to appreciate, Steve stands up. 

“Fine.” He ends the call and sniffles, muttering _assholes, _under his breath. He missed having an audience for his snotty side commentary. 

He shuffles to the door and unlocks it, throwing it open and trudging back to his position on the couch without greeting them. He was annoyed by his friends just showing up when he had told them he didn’t want company today. He's sick and grumpy. He misses Bucky more than he should. 

He didn’t want to deal with their conspiracy theories. Even his curiosity wasn’t enough to warrant a desire for knowledge. He just wanted to be left _alone. _Alone, from everyone except his ghost.

They stalk inside, three sets of footsteps. Steve glares at his lap, waiting for someone to break the silence. 

“You’re sick,” Clint says, the first one to speak. “Jeez, Steve, you look like hell.” 

The three of them settled into the living room around Steve. No one gets on the couch beside him. They can sense the tension rolling off of his body.

Steve shoots him a sharp look he knows Clint doesn’t deserve. “D'you come over just to insult me?” 

“We needed to speak to you,” Natasha says cooly, apparently unbothered by his biting tone. "It's important." It’s a professional voice, that Nat uses, one she doesn’t take with him often. It makes Steve’s attention spike, and he sits up a little taller. He had the weird feeling that he was in trouble. 

“I guessed that from the hundreds of texts, yeah.” 

“Bucky isn’t here, is he?” Natasha asks, ignoring Steve’s attitude. She keeps her tone professional, asking the question like a lawyer who already knew the answer but wanted proof for the jury. 

“How did you know he isn’t--”

Natasha cuts him off with a cool expression. “Because he can’t be in two places at once, and we just saw him this morning.” 

Steve squints at her, trying to make sense of what she said, but ultimately fails. They’d _seen_ him? How? “I--What? How is that possible?” 

Sam inhales and exhales loudly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Steve should probably move over on the couch so that one of them could sit beside him, but he didn't want them close. Clint sits down on the edge of the coffee table first, but Natasha and Sam both stand, their postures rigid.

“Okay, so, hear us out.” Sam pleads. He and Clint both look extremely uncomfortable, unable to stay still. Natasha is a statue

“What the hell is going on?” Steve asks tiredly. “Guys, I’m sick, I’m exhausted, and I’m _ really _not in the mood. If you’ve got something to say, just spit it out, or leave me alone.” 

“Steve, we searched James Buchanan Barnes and cross referenced his name with the Hydra records database.” Sam begins, keeping his voice even and factual. “Once you told me about...your ghost situation, I wanted to look into James’s past with Hydra, y’know, for your safety. I had to make sure he wasn’t working with Hydra, or affiliated with them in any way during the war--we couldn’t take the risk.”

Steve bristles at that, but knows he can’t ask any different of his friends. In their line of work, a lack of attention to details causes your friends to die. They were looking out for him in the ways they knew how. 

“Okay,” he says carefully, “Then why are you looking at me like that?” Sam and Clint were eyeing Steve with wide, sympathetic eyes, like they were about to tell Steve his beloved pet had just died, but Natasha was cool and calm. Steve braced himself for bad news, though he had no idea what that bad news could be.

Were they going to tell him Bucky had been working alongside Hydra the entire war? Was he the mastermind behind the whole operation? 

The thought was almost laughable; Steve’s Bucky could _never. _

“James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th was experimented on during the Second World War,” Sam says gently, his brown eyes wide and sympathetic. “The trials, are,” he shudders, “They’re horrific. I mean, the things they did--”

“It resulted in him becoming enhanced. Results of the trial show James as being stronger, faster, having accelerated healing rates, and so on.” Natasha cuts in sharply, obviously not wanting to waste time. Or maybe she wanted to spare Steve the details of his friend getting hurt, he couldn’t tell from her voice or poker face. He often found Natasha difficult to read, but especially now in her dark wash jeans and leather jacket. This was the facade Natasha put on for the rest of the world. He found it difficult to find his friend under the armour she wore now.

“I already knew that,” Steve tells them, rolling his eyes. Relief washes over him. If this was the bad news they were trying to brace him for, then he had nothing to worry about. Peggy had already explained the terrible things that Hydra did to Bucky, and Steve had made his peace with them as much as he could. It didn't change anything about Bucky. “I’m sorry you went through all that trouble, but. I talked to Peggy--she was in the war with Buck--and she told me what they did to him. It’s terrible, but it doesn’t change anything. I know him, and his past.” 

"Steve," Clint is shaking his head, "There's more." 

That gets Steve's attention. "More?" He echoes softly. "What?"

Clint opens his mouth to speak, but then closes it again without saying anything, looking to Sam helplessly. 

Was the news so bad that Clint couldn't bring himself to say it out loud?

Sam nods at Clint, and then turns back towards Steve. “So, yes. Hydra experimented on him during the war, but Bucky got away. He made it back to his regiment. He continued in the war as a sniper, and a damn good one, until he fell off of a train near the end of the war. He was assumed to be killed in battle, his body was never found. They buried an empty casket.” 

“He fell off a train and died,” Steve corrects stiffly. He wasn’t sure where this was heading, nothing sounded like new information, but the worried look on Sam and Clint's faces weren’t reassuring, there had to be more. “I knew that, too.” 

Natasha shakes her head. “He didn’t die.” 

Steve blinks dumbly at her. He can’t process the words: _ he didn’t die. _They floated around near the ceiling, out of his reach. He wondered if the fever was impacting his cognition. “He’s a ghost, Nat. Of course he’s dead.” 

“He’s not a _ ghost, _exactly. Just. Listen,” Clint cuts in nervously. He looks extremely uncomfortable, like he’d rather be exactly anywhere else. His posture is stiff. 

“James didn’t die.” She repeats. “Because of the extreme-cold temperatures, his body was preserved, though his left arm was obliterated from breaking his fall.” Natasha explains, very matter-of-fact. “Other than that, James was mostly intact. His body was found by Hydra, who recognized him from previous experiments; he had been their most resilient subject during the war. They were eager to have him back.” 

Steve is shaking his head. It sounded like Natasha was speaking another language. He squinted at her, trying to follow the trail she was laying out for him, but nothing sounded logical. None of it was making any sense. 

His brain was foggy, both from his cold and from the impossibility of what she was saying. It had to be some kind of prank, a joke. They were trying to get a rise out of him. 

They were just teasing him for believing he lived with a ghost. They were trying to scare Steve away from the apartment. That's all.

She continues. “Hydra took him and injected James with a serum to improve speed, reflexes, strength, and healing time--even more so than the original serum he was given during his first capture. He is the most successful example of Enhancement we have on record. They amputated James’ left arm and gave him a high-tech prosthetic made out of vibranium alloy, making him extremely strong, and bullet-proof.” She spoke as though she were reading off of a script. 

"What?" Steve hears his own voice crack as he asks the question. It sounds very far away, even to his own ears.

“Using electro-shock therapy, they erased the memories that James Buchanan Barnes had, and he became the Winter Soldier, or The Asset, as he is referred to in the files. The Soldier was taught certain commands and phrases in order to ensure his excellent behavior. He was programmed, like a computer, to become the weapon that Hydra had always dreamed of.” 

“No,” Steve says shortly. His mind is empty, trying to make connections between the sentences Natasha was making and the Bucky he knew, the one who sang to him and laughed like everything Steve did was adorable. "No, that's--that ain't right."

When Steve had said _ stand down, _Bucky had frozen. Become someone else. 

"Steve," Clint murmured. "Everything we're telling you is true."

He still doesn’t want to believe what they’re saying. His hands are shaking. When did his hands start shaking? “N-No. None of this makes any sense--"

“The Winter Soldier is the most notorious killing machine of our time,” She plows on, shifting her weight from one heeled foot to the other. 

She seems taller than Steve has ever seen her, too large to fit into his apartment, with ideas that didn’t go with the flooring or match the creamy colour of the walls.

“He’s killed hundreds of people for Hydra, most of them innocent. He trained me under the nickname Sasha during my time with Hydra, which is where I first recognized him from. He was cold, efficient, and...robotic. They had him programmed perfectly. They send him on missions, he completes them, and then he comes back to the base where he is put into a cryo-chamber that puts him into a mode of suspended animation until he’s needed again. Sometimes it’s weeks. Sometimes it’s many years. That’s why it’s been so hard to find him--because he disappears without a trace, for long periods of time. That’s why he was called the ghost.” Natasha purses her lips. “Only, no one knew just how fitting that title really was.” 

Steve isn’t sure if he’s breathing or not. He can’t think about breathing--he can’t think about anything. His hands curl into small fists, fingernails digging hard into the flesh of his palm. 

“Impossible,” he breathes, but it’s so silent no one reacts, having not heard. "He's not--he's not _like _that."

“Our theory,” Sam says, voice soft compared to Natasha’s clipped tone. “Is that while Bucky is in this cryo-chamber, while he’s in suspended animation, his…spirit comes here. His spirit, which is still Bucky _ without _ the Soldier’s programming, for the most part anyway, and then disappears when they wake up him for a mission, and then returning to the apartment when they put him under again. He doesn’t remember his time out of cryo because of the electro-shock therapy. They erase everything, giving them a blank slate.” 

"As for why only you can see him," Natasha shrugs, mystified. "We're not sure. We think it has something to do with him _letting _you see him, even if it's subconscious. Perhaps he feels a level of trust towards you, or perhaps you're just more sensitive to these things..." She is saying more, theorizing about why it is that Steve can see Bucky's crooked smile when no one else can, but none of it matters. It all fades away into background hum. 

Everything in Steve’s mind clears.

_ Bucky was alive. _Bucky wasn’t dead--he wasn’t a ghost. He wasn’t lost to Steve forever.

He was _suffering._

“He’s not evil,” Steve finds himself saying, shaking his head slowly. He feels like he’s having an out of body experience, like he’s watching himself do and say these things, but doesn’t know what motivates his actions or words. “You’ve got it all wrong. He is not evil. He’s _ good. _ You--you’ve got the wrong guy. This is a mistake._” _

“_Bucky_ is good,” Clint murmurs, looking down. He won’t meet Steve’s eyes. “The Winter Soldier is not. We’ve fought him, Steve. There...there isn’t anything human about him. It’s not like fighting anyone or any_ thing _ else. He’s like nothing we’ve ever been up against before.” 

“He’s good,” Steve repeats stubbornly, his brain short-circuiting.His hands begin to shake. He knew Bucky's heart. “Buck is _good_\--”

“He’s a killer, whether he wants to be or not. And we’ve got to stop him, before he hurts someone else,” Natasha quips, no room for empathy in her tone. She shifts her weight, and the floor creaks under her. Silence fills the room, no one daring to speak. “I’m sorry,” She tells him, but nothing in her face or voice makes Steve believe that she really is.

Steve looks up at them with wide, devastated eyes. 

“He’s alive,” Steve breathes, the realization finally dawning on him. His heart races. Hope. There was _hope. _“He’s--Bucky is _alive_.” 

“No--” Sam chimes in, but Steve ignores him. He knew it was true. Bucky was alive, was trapped--his body, the hands that had touched him so carefully in those few fleeting moments--they were out there somewhere. Maybe they were reaching for Steve. 

Bucky needed his help. 

Steve gets to his feet, his eyes wild. “He’s alive, but. But he’s in trouble, he’s with Hydra--”

“He _ is _ Hydra,” Nat corrects sharply. “Don't confuse that, Steve. He is literally an embodiment of Hydra. Their personalized weapon, their best experiment. Their _ child._” 

Steve knew Bucky, and he wasn’t a Nazi, or a killer, or a bad guy at all. He was just a big, handsome dork with an affinity for dancing and a dislike of seafood. He was genuine, and charming, and silly. He was beautiful. Precious. He missed drinking coffee and being able to sit outside in the sunshine. 

And he was in the hands of an evil organization--who had, in Sam’s own words, _ wiped _ Bucky of everything that made him _ him. _They broke him.

“Hydra programmed him,” Steve says slowly, trying to understand. He can’t feel his heart in his chest, he’s not even sure it’s beating. “Right?” 

Sam nods, seeming relieved that Steve was finally getting on the same page, not just repeating _ no _over and over again. “Yes.” 

“And they took him, against his will, after he’d fallen.” 

Sam looks less enthused. His face is tight, eyes hard. “Yeah, that’s right.” 

“Did he ever have a choice?” 

Three of them fall quiet again, but Clint pipes up, finally speaking. 

“He was tortured,” Clint murmurs. “Made to do their will. They had to break him before they could program him. The files recount that he resisted for a long time.” 

Steve nods once. That isn’t what he wanted to hear, but at the same time it served to prove what he already knew to be true--that Bucky _ was _good. 

He hadn’t willingly done those things, killed all those people. Hydra had broken him, and then moulded the pieces into whatever they wanted, not caring what the cost would be to Bucky. 

They had created something twisted and terrifying out of the beautiful soul that Steve had fallen in love with, but that soul was still in there. It could still be saved. 

“So,” Steve says, like he’s coming up with a conclusion for a long, complicated paper. His voice breaks a little when he says, “So, you’re saying Bucky is alive, and Hydra has him,” He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he touches his cheek and feels wetness there. He blinks hard at his hand, astonished, and more tears fall, fat drops that run freely down his face. Once they start, Steve fears they will never stop. “He’s alive.” 

Clint hesitates, but nods once. “That is what we’re saying, but--”

His shoulders shake, and all at once his calm facade falls apart around him. “Oh my god,” He sobs, his hands flying up to cover his mouth. “Oh my god, they have him. We have to get him _out_. They h-have him.” 

Clint and Sam share a devastated look. Clearly, this is not the reaction they’d wanted or expected from Steve.

“Steve,” Natasha says, and her voice is finally gentle, finally the tone he recognizes, but it’s still disconnected from the situation, like a doctor delivering a fatal diagnosis to a patient; kind, sympathetic, but with a safe detachment. Getting too invested was dangerous and sad for everyone involved, after all. “There isn’t anything left to save.” 

Steve is already shaking his head. He’s trembling like a leaf in the wind, suddenly chilled to the bone. He didn’t pay attention to the temperature drop, too worried about Bucky and the way his heart was breaking. It was probably just his flu, getting the better of him. 

“No--you know that isn’t true! You just said! You just said _ Bucky _ is in there!” Steve cries, his voice getting louder. “You just said that! He’s fucking in there and they are _ hurting _ him, they’re making him do things he would _ never _ want! He would never hurt _ anyone-- _” 

Sam comes to sit beside him, tries to pull Steve into his arms, but Steve thrashes hard, fighting him off and stepping back to put some space between them with unbalanced, jerky movements. 

“_Don’t touch me_,” he yells, his his chest heaving. There's a surge of adrenaline suddenly coursing through his veins, fuelled by the anger, the betrayal that he felt. “Don’t you _dare_ try to tell me that he ain’t worth saving--_ how dare you, _you, you don’t know him!” 

“We’re saying we don’t know what we’re getting into,” Sam says, holding his hands up in surrender. He doesn’t raise his voice, despite Steve’s shouting. Sam was a master in de-escalation, had to do it every day for work, but Steve wasn't having it. The placating tone only served to anger him further.

“Steve, we’ve faced the Winter Soldier before. He didn’t recognize Nat from their time together, he didn’t know anything about you. We just saw him this morning, that’s how we knew Bucky wasn’t here. When we called him by his name, James, or even Bucky, he didn’t respond. He didn’t know who we were talking about,” Sam reaches out like he wants to rub Steve’s back, but his hands drops between them when he sees the venomous look Steve gives him. Sam wets his lips, and in a quiet, apologetic voice, he whispers: “We’re not sure Bucky is in there anymore.” 

_ No, _Steve didn’t want to hear it. He couldn’t stand to hear it, wouldn’t have those condemning words spoken in his apartment. If Steve didn’t have Bucky, he had to at least have hope. Without either of those things, he would be nothing.

“There is a _ chance. _” Steve rasps, and then the sobs really hit him. Bucky was alive--but may be impossible to save, just beyond his reach. Steve was only one man, and an insignificant one at that. How could he get Bucky back? But how could he _not? _

"Breathe," Natasha snaps, a panic to her tone that let Steve know he must really be worrying.

But breathing feels impossible. Steve is sobbing so hard his body aches with the force of it ripping through him. He hasn’t cried this openly, this savagely, since his mother’s diagnosis. Not even at her funeral did he let this beastly grief rip through him like this. He felt like the weight of this would tear him apart. The knowledge that he could lose his favourite person, the knowledge that they were suffering. That awful, helpless feeling. He couldn't bare it.

“There is a chance that B=Bucky is in there, _hurting_, and you’re just going to _give up_? Is that r-really what you’re going to do?” Steve growls, wiping with fists at his eyes. "How can you sit back and let a-an innocent man suffer?" 

“Steve--” Sam tries to reason, but Steve isn’t going to hear it. 

“If what you’re saying is true,” Steve rasps, “Then Bucky--Bucky’s _ soul, _ his _ g-goodness-- _is in the Winter Soldier. For your theory to work, that has to be true.” 

If, when the Winter Soldier was out of cryo, Bucky’s spirit disappeared from the apartment, that meant the part of Bucky that wanted Steve, that made him tea and sung him to sleep and told him he was perfect...was in the Winter Soldier. 

Which meant there was _ hope. _Steve could at least hold on to that. He needed something to keep him from falling into a spiral of panic, of grief. 

Natasha watches him with an even expression, except for her eyes. There is a sadness in her eyes, a regret. 

“Steve,” She says patiently, as though talking to a stubborn child about a concept too complex for their understanding. “The Winter Soldier is a human weapon. And I use the term _ human _very, very loosely.” She pauses, “We’re convinced that after the years of shock-therapy and conditioning that the Soldier has undergone, that he is not in a condition where, even after professional help, he’d be able to function safely and reasonably well in day to day civilian life.” It sounded like she was reading a speech, she sounded like she did at press conferences where she was rehearsed and uncomfortable, putting on a front for the world. Hiding behind a charade. 

“But there’s a _chance_,” Steve echoes robotically, refusing to process what he was being told. “If you j-just let me see him, let me talk to the Winter Soldier--maybe he’ll r-remember me--”

“Or maybe he’ll kill you,” Sam cuts in sharply. "You can ask your ghost when he gets back, how he'd feel about having your blood on his hands." 

Steve swallows. The words cut him like a knife. The air is frigid around him, so cold his fingers get stiff from it, the chill of dread wrapped around him like an embrace. 

“It’s not just our choice here, Steve. This is bigger than us. This is U.S. and Russian governments, its international Nazi organizations, it's,” Clint shakes his head, making a helpless gesture with his hands. Out of the three of them, Clint looks the most wrecked to be delivering this news. “I wish we _ could _try.”

Steve digs his hands into his hair and grips hard, until it hurts. He had to think, to find a way to convince them.

“You never give up,” he accuses them all with an angry voice. “You _ never _ give up, you never say it’s hopeless.” He walks around the room with agitated movements, unable to keep still. “You can’t sit here and tell me that you’re going to shoot Bucky because he’s too dangerous to try and save. To even _ try,” _ He uses a hard fist to wipe at his tears. 

“We follow orders,” Natasha replies stiffly. “Our orders are to end the Winter Soldier before he ends us.” 

“But,” He bites down on his bottom lip to keep it from trembling. He wants to yank his hair out, he wants to scream or pass out or do _ something _that would make this nightmare end. 

“There is nothing we can do--”

“No,” Steve begs Natasha to stop there. He couldn’t hear those words. He needed hope. It was the only way he'd be able to make it. “Please.”

Natasha doesn’t stop. She keeps her professional tone. “--He’s not human. He’s not the man you know. The Winter Soldier is dangerous. He’s highly skilled, highly trained, and he’s unpredictable. He’s too good at what he does.” Natasha clenches her jaw together. Steve sees the muscle in her neck strain. “We’ve got orders to shoot on site.” 

“No,” Steve repeats brokenly. His legs forget how to be legs, and they cave out under him. His knees hit the floor hard enough to bruise. He hardly feels it. 

He doesn’t want to look at her anymore, or the apartment, which only reminds him of Bucky. He doesn’t want to be here, or think about these dark things. 

Sobs overtake his body, and Steve manages to find strength enough to sag against the wall behind him and curl his legs into his chest like a child. 

“Oh, my god,” He sobs quietly, the realization finally dawning on him. They were going to find the Winter Soldier before Steve could, and they were going to kill him. His friends were going to shoot Bucky and he would never hear that voice again. Bucky would never get to sit in Central Park with a coffee from Steve's favourite cafe and listen to music with him. He would never get to go to a club and experience what dancing was like in modern times, would never get to spend a sleepy Saturday curled up safe in bed. He was going to die before getting the chance to live. “Oh my god.” 

“Steve--do you want your inhaler--” Clint tries, but Steve doesn’t register his voice, can't make himself care. 

He’s lost in his own head, in thoughts of Bucky’s voice and his smile and that _ laugh _that shuddered right through Steve any time he heard it. Those eyes--so expressive, vulnerable and strong at the same time, his lips--bitten and red from biting back moans last night, when he helped Steve along in his release. Talked him through it in the sweetest way.

_Oh. _

So this is what it felt like. Was it supposed to hurt quite so badly? 

“I think I love him,” He whispers into his hands, around his painful sobs. “I really think I do.” 

There is a silence in the room as everyone takes that confession in, including Steve himself, the only sound being Steve's hiccuped breathing. 

He wasn’t sure which broken part of him had possessed his mouth to say the words out loud, but it felt good, once he did. Like a weight had been lifted. He didn’t have to pretend anymore. 

_He loved Bucky. _

He had never been in love before, but in the movies, it never looked like it hurt this much. He should be breaking into closed ice rinks with his lover, and running through cobble stone streets giggling and kissing desperately, hungrily, in the rain. 

Not this. Never this.

Sam scrubs a hand over his hair, and under his breath, murmurs out a small _ fuck. _

Clint looks up at the ceiling with his lips pressed together. Even Natasha twitches at that confession. 

“You--you don’t know him.” She says finally, mostly to pacify herself, Steve is sure. “If you knew Sasha, you wouldn’t love him. If you knew what he was capable of doing without even blinking an eye, you wouldn’t be able to love him, even if you tried as hard as you could. You would hate him. You would be afraid.” 

Steve looks up at her, betrayal and tears in his eyes. Her words stung. “And what about what _ they _ did to _ him?” _

Natasha’s eyes narrow slightly. 

“They tortured him,” Clint interrupts, his voice taking a reproachful tone. “They brain-washed him. They made him their weapon. He didn’t _ choose _to become Hydra. He was just a soldier, trying to--to fight for his country. And they took him. Twice. They broke him in, and they made him theirs.” 

“Clint,” Natasha says, warningly. “Enough.”

“What?” Clint snaps. He shifts from where he was sitting on the coffee table, showing his irritation. “Is it really so different than what they did to you, Nat? You weren’t yourself. And you read the file--I mean, they stripped him of everything--” 

Steve covers his face again. He didn’t want to hear about Bucky getting hurt, or hurting people, or any of this. This had to be a dream, nothing else. He’d wake up soon, and Bucky would be there, making him coffee or singing to him, or telling him that he was beautiful. The Winter Soldier would be something of Steve’s dreams. Nothing would hurt. He and Bucky would be safe.

“Steve, we’re sorry.” Sam says softly, barely audible over Steve’s body-wracking sobs. It didn’t matter how sorry they were. Nothing mattered. He was shutting down. He was cold all over, slowly going numb. “But he’s dangerous.”

“This is what he looks like, yes?” Natasha produces a picture from her purse, hovering over him and holding it out for Steve to examine. It’s a restored copy of what is clearly an old picture of Bucky during the war. 

Steve wipes his tears away roughly and goes quiet, getting to his feet to snatch the picture from Nat’s hands. He holds it between his fingers as though it’s made of spun gold. Everything terrible in his mind stills, going absolutely silent as those pale eyes stared up at him from the page. 

His portraits of Bucky could not compare to this picture. Steve runs his fingers along the edges of the photo carefully, so carefully, lips parting at the site of it. 

There he was--his Bucky, right down to his chiselled jaw and the stubborn set of his brow. He wasn’t smiling in the picture, but there was still a playful _ something _in his round eyes that made Steve want to smile, despite being wracked with grief. Just the sight of Bucky filled him with comfort amidst all the chaos in his living room and his heart 

“That’s him.” Steve mumbles, voice rough from crying. He thumbs the picture gently, as if by staring at it intently enough he could summon Bucky back here from whatever hell he was currently in with Hydra. "Buck."

“And this,” Natasha pulls out another photograph. It’s a close-up image of the one he’d seen of the Winter Soldier while in her apartment, but it’s been edited to be clearer, without the blurry lines that he’d seen before. “Is the Asset. The Winter Soldier.” 

Steve takes that picture, too, ands holds the two side by side. His eyes move from one to the other. 

There were differences. Bucky’s hair was short and curly, the Soldier’s hair was limp and greasy, hanging long to hit just before his shoulders and wild with the wind. Bucky’s eyes were cheery and playful even with his solemn expression, the Soldier’s eyes were dead--the same deadness that Steve had seen in Bucky’s right before he disappeared. 

Which...made sense, if he was going with their theory, it meant that in that moment, Bucky was disappearing to go become the Soldier. The moment when they’d touched--it must have been a glitch in the system, a brief moment of in-between when Bucky was resisting going. 

There were also undeniable similarities between the picture, there was no doubt that it was the same man, just much, much more broken in the second image. 

“Okay,” Steve says. He tries to force himself to stop crying, and manages to get his sobs under control with a wet cough, but his tears fall freely without his consent. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” Sam echoes. 

“Steve, Stark has given us instructions to take down the Asset. Dead or alive.” Natasha murmurs. 

Steve’s eyes flick up to hers, and he doesn’t say anything, though he assumes he must look quite broken, folded in on himself, face red and blotchy from crying, clutching the two pictures of the dead man he was in love with. 

_Not dead_, Steve corrected himself. _But soon would be_.

“My hands are tied,” Natasha adds, but something in her voice makes Steve think she’s hesitant. Natasha was always the perfect soldier; she obeyed orders, she got the job done. Steve has never heard her question her orders before. 

“If you kill him,” Steve bites down on each word carefully, making sure he was being clear. He meets the eyes of every person in the room. “I will never, ever forgive you. If you kill him, you kill me.” 

Natasha is shaking her head. “I don’t think you realize how dangerous he is. You don't realize what you're asking of us.” 

“Try,” Steve begs her. He grabs her hand in one of his cold ones, getting to his feet. He's not sure if his legs will support him, but by some miracle, he stays upright. “Nat, please. _ Try. _ I never ask you for-for anything. I’m a-asking you,” He looks to Sam and Clint, “all of you, to try. Try to bring him in. If I can talk to him, or just--if you can get someone to look at him, maybe there is some kind of therapy, or something you can do, to bring him back. Bucky is in there, or else he wouldn’t be disappearing, right? Which means there is someone vulnerable, and human in there, suffering. You’re the Avengers. Your job is to _ help _people.” 

“Steve--” she is shaking her head. He won't have it.

“So help him,” He cuts her off. As he blinks a few more stray tears fall. “And if not for him, then. Help me. Because I--Nat,” His bottom lip trembles, "I need him." 

There is a long, pregnant pause between them. The air is thick with tension, and Steve nearly misses it when out of the corner of his eye, he notices Bucky standing still as a statue, mouth open in surprise. 

“Buck,” Steve breathes, stumbling back a few feet in surprise, dropping Natasha's hand. He wants to collapse into Bucky's arms, let the strength of him take a bit of Steve's grief. “You’re here.” 

Bucky blinks. The shock on his face doesn’t leave, and his glassy eyes flick only briefly to Steve, before landing somewhere between the window and the floor, a horrified expression. Steve can see his gears grinding, working through everything he’d heard. Bucky swallows. 

Steve wonders how long he’d been there, if he’d heard his story told to him, or if--if he’d heard Steve scream out that he was in love with him. 

If he’d heard all of his friends calling him a monster.

“Bucky is here?” Clint asks, looking around. He squints in every corner, but he of course comes up empty, looking back helplessly to Steve. 

“You can’t see him,” Sam tells him tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hey, Bucky. Nice to see you...again,” Sam says awkwardly, obviously referring to their encounter with the Winter Soldier earlier that day. 

Bucky swallows. He doesn’t greet Sam back. He blinks again. 

Steve tries to get his attention by staring intently at him, but Bucky doesn’t meet his eyes. He’s frozen with shock. Horror. 

He had heard, Steve could tell by the look on his face. His heart sinks to his toes. He knew.

“I think I need some time,” Steve pleads, looking from Bucky to his friends. He had a mess to clean up here, a lost soul to soothe. “I just need some time to think, alone.”

“You shouldn’t be alone right now.” Sam protests, looking for all the world like he was bearing down in his spot in order to not be moved. His eyes are worried. “You’re not well.” 

“No, I’m not,” Steve agrees softly, the fight draining from his body. “But I’m strong enough to deal with this. And Bucky is here now. I'm not alone. I’ll deal with it, I just. Want time.”

The words feel false coming from his mouth. He doesn’t feel strong. 

He has no fight left in him, not for this. His bones feel heavy and his skin feels like paper, like the smallest thing could tear him apart, could make him clatter to the floor in large, broken pieces. 

Really, if he thought about it, he felt more like a ghost than he’d ever considered Bucky to be. 

Steve didn’t feel like there was anything real about him in this moment; he hung in the air like a cobweb and none of it mattered. 

“I want to be alone, and. I don’t think I can hear you tell me no again. So just go, for now, and think about it. Please.” He had to talk to Bucky, see where they stood. He was trying hard not to tremble, to stand strong and not let his voice shake, trying not to show how scared he really was. “I know I’m asking a lot of you. But I don’t know what else to do.” The only future he could picture himself having included Bucky--a world without him seemed a lonely and impossible place. 

Steve had to gather the strength he hoped he had and he needed to deal with this, find a way to save Bucky. 

Clint and Sam get to their feet slowly, watching Steve like he was a bomb that may go off at any minute. To a stranger, Natasha’s face may seem cold and cut-off, but Steve knew her well, and he recognized that sadness and guilt in her eyes. 

She was afraid for Steve, and she was sorry for him. 

Steve didn’t think that would be enough to get her to rebel against direct orders, but a part of him was still hopeful that eventually, she and the others would come around.

“Steve,” Clint murmurs on his way out, throwing an apologetic look over his shoulder at Steve. “For what it’s worth, I want to try.” 

Steve doesn’t smile, but he does give Clint a grateful nod. Having someone on his side would help. Maybe Clint could begin to chip away at the others, especially Natasha. Sam, Steve was pretty sure, could be convinced. He just didn’t have the energy to start just yet. 

He _ would _save Bucky, though. That was the only option, if he had to storm into a Hydra base himself and steal him away, he would do it. 

He knew that if the roles were reversed, Bucky would burn the world to ashes to get Steve out. Steve could only do the same.

Natasha hesitates, though. “I’m sorry this happened to you,” She says gently. Steve feels like she means it, but it doesn’t do anything to soothe the hurt. “This is bigger than you. It’s exactly what we feared when we became your friend.” She glances at the other two Avengers, who paused in their slow shuffle towards the door, watching her with a sad expression, like they knew she was right. “We’ve dragged you into something big, something you didn't sign up for. And now we've hurt you.” 

“Me meeting Bucky had nothing to do with you.” Steve tells them all. He realizes that they are hurting, too. Their hearts are aching for him, and it wasn’t fair of him to shut them out cold and pretend like he was the only one suffering. They loved him, after all, and no one liked seeing someone they love go through something terrible. “It was just a strange coincidence, and I don’t regret anything.” 

“Not yet,” Sam murmurs. He won’t look at Steve, he’s staring at the floor, hands shoved into his pockets. “Things haven’t gotten hard yet, but they will. And you might hate us for it.” 

Steve swallows. He didn’t want to think about that. Bucky blinks fast a few times. “Don’t give me a reason to.” 

Sam doesn’t have anything to say to that. He’s not sure when it started, but the snow has turned into rain outside under the heat of the November sun, coming down in heavy sheets. Steve listens to it beat against the windows like prisoners against jail cell bars. 

“James,” Natasha greets, for the first time. She clears her throat, staring at the ground because, of course, she can’t see Bucky. “I’m sorry this happened to you. But I’ll do what I have to to protect Steve, and anyone else I can. I trust you’ll understand.” 

Bucky looks at her with an even gaze, his jaw working. He nods once, but Steve won’t translate that. He doesn’t want his friends to know that Bucky has accepted his fate. He didn’t want to be the only one fighting for this. 

“Please think about what I asked,” Steve begs his friends, as they get ready to head out into the storm. “I’m only asking you to _ think _about it.”

Natasha pulls a thick folder out of her bag, and sets it down on the coffee table with a heavy _ slap, _interrupting the general calm that had overtaken the room since Steve had quieted down some.

Sam and Clint both look like they’re about to protest--Sam even moves to snatch the thing up, but she silences them with a sharp look. 

“Steve,” She says. Her tone has lost the softness from before, her words are biting and harsh. “Take a look at what he’s done and tell me if you still want to save him then.”

With that, Clint and Sam shuffle reluctantly out, with Natasha clipping closely at their heels. 

When his door closes, the echo of the latch sliding into place is the only sound that fills the apartment for a long time, along with the battering rain. 

Steve scrubs at his eyes. They’re dry from crying, and they sting a little. His throat burns, his nose runs, and he is exhausted. He wants this to be a nightmare, wants to wake up in Bucky’s arms

“Bucky,” he whispers. “Please talk to me.” 

“They’re right.” Bucky’s eyes slide over to Steve. “Everything they said, it’s true. I...don’t remember everything, but. If I think about it, I do remember _ some _ stuff, I think. I used to think it was all just nightmares or illusions. But I remember them. Hydra,” he shudders visibly. “Programming me.” 

Steve takes a step closer to him, but Bucky recoils like he can’t bear to have Steve one inch closer to him. 

“Don’t,” Bucky demands flatly. “Just, don’t.”

“Buck--”

“I’m glad. That I was here, when they explained. There’s been a lot of holes in my memory, and. It’s good I know why. So, I’m glad.” Bucky takes a deep breath. “But I’m a monster. I know that for sure now. And you shouldn’t be so comfortable around me.” 

The words sting Steve as though he’d been slapped. “Don’t say that.” 

“It’s true.” Bucky laughs without humour. “You heard what your friends said. I’m the Winter Soldier, _ the most notorious killing machine of our time,” _he quotes. “And now I’ve dragged you into this mess with me--”

“What do you mean?” 

“If I had just stayed away, even if I had been a nuisance like I was to everyone else who lived in this damn apartment, you would have left, or at the very least, you wouldn’t have gotten close to me,” Bucky spits bitterly. “But I didn’t stay away. And now look at the position I’ve put you in.”

Steve’s hands clench into fists. Bucky was being an idiot--Steve was so frustrated part of him wanted to punch him in his big dumb head just to make him see some sense. His fear and sadness was shifting into anger, his fiery temper rearing its ugly head once again.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve growls. “If you think for one _ second _that I regret meeting you in the slightest, you’ve got an even thicker skull than I thought.”

“Steve,” Bucky begins, but he stops short. His eyes are wild, tortured, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. There is a storm brewing in the apartment, in the air between them, and Steve is afraid that he’s going to get his heart broken, that he might lose everything that ever mattered. 

“Unless you regret meeting me because of...what I said,” Steve thinks back to him crying out about his feelings for Bucky, “Then fine. I will give you that. But if you regret meeting me because you think my fuckin’ _ innocence _is going to be corrupted or something, shut up about it.” 

Bucky grunts in frustration, looking at Steve like he was bizarre for not running in the opposite direction. “I’m a _monster__\--” _

“Did you hear what Clint said? Hydra _ makes _the Winter Soldier do those things. He’s brainwashed, and--”

“Stop talking about the Winter Soldier like he isn’t me,” Bucky clips, cutting Steve off sharply. He’s never used this biting tone with Steve before. It makes Steve feels like something between them has broken., perhaps beyond repair “_I_am the Winter Soldier, Steve. I’m the one who hurt those people. Killed them. I’m the one working with Hydra. Me.” 

“Not with,” Steve shakes his head fast. His vision is blurry, but he can’t tell if it's from tears or exhaustion. He can’t be the only one in the fight for Bucky to be saved. If his friends were against him, and if Bucky was...Steve would lose. And losing this fight meant losing everything. “For. Against your will, Buck. You never had a choice.” 

“Your friends are right, I ain’t worth saving.” Bucky’s face is dark, he’s lost in some part of himself that Steve can’t reach. “They need to kill me--the Winter Soldier--so that I can’t hurt anybody anymore. That’s the only option. It’s the one that’ll do the least damage to the least amount of people.” 

"I'm not going to let that happen." 

"Do you think I want your blood on my hands?" Bucky swallows, looking like he might throw up, if he could. Steve thinks back to what Sam had said, about the cold that had wrapped protectively around him then. It had been Bucky all along--wrapping his body around Steve like he could physically protect the blond from the pain of the words his friends were throwign at him. "I'd rather die."

Steve was afraid Bucky would ask for this. He was a righteous man, Steve knew, a man who believed in right and wrong. He didn’t see a light at the end of this. In Bucky’s mind, there was no version of this story that ended with him making it out alive.

Steve tries hard not to crumple to the ground, just barely succeeding, hugging his arms around his body. 

“What about me?” Steve asks, voice cracking. “What will happen to me, if you just...give up? If you die?” 

Steve thinks that he may just evaporate into the air like Bucky sometimes does, his particles scattering all over the rooms of this apartment and wandering around, lonely, never find their counterpart again. He felt like that was happening to him at the moment, like he was falling away into nothing.

Bucky’s face stays dark. “It’s not your call to make, Steve.” 

“I get some say!” Steve yells, slamming his fist down on the coffee table. His mug rattles from the force of it, the little bit of tea still left in the mug rippling. 

There is a sudden, white-hot anger that has replaced his sadness. He takes a step closer to Bucky, muscles coiled with fury. Bucky doesn’t back away this time.

“You don’t get to just--just stand around the apartment and protect me, you don’t get to make me coffee, and call me pet names, and tell me I’m the most _p-perfect_ thing you’ve ever seen or-or slow dance with me, and then tell me I don’t get any _ say _in what h-happens to you!” Steve shouts, not caring who hears, not caring if he was being dramatic. The words poured out of him, and he couldn't stop them. 

Bucky opens his mouth, but Steve isn’t done. “_You_ did this, _you_ made me fall in love with you, so you get to deal with me having a fucking say about what happens when it comes to you. This is bad news, sure, but it also means there is hope. Did you ever think about that? You _ aren’t dead. _ You’re alive. That means, if we can get you--the Winter Soldier, if we can you away from Hydra, and keep you out of cryo, then _ you would have a body,” _ Steve is crying again, but he ignores it, his hands curling into fists at his side, so tight his nails dig hard into the palms of his hands. “And you could _ t-touch me, _ and hold me, and...we could just _ be. _ ” Steve wipes angrily at his tears. “And that is the best thing I can imagine. _ That _is worth fighting for.” 

Bucky stays quiet, but something in his face changes as he watches Steve. The darkest parts of him seem to drift away, letting the light in. His features open up, shock becoming disbelief, becoming amusement, and finally, awe. 

“You love me.” 

“_Yes_.” Steve didn’t care anymore, nothing mattered except that Bucky was alive. “You fucking idiot. Yes, I love you.” 

Bucky’s lips part, as if hearing Steve say it again made it register for good. “Steve--” He begins, but Steve is afraid to hear what he might say next, so he cuts him off with a hand, shaking his head. 

“I know you may not love me,” Steve whispers, still with anger in his voice, though it’s not accusatory. He knows he can’t expect Bucky to love him, that wasn’t the point of this. The point was that Bucky needed to see that people--mainly Steve--cared about him, and wanted to see him come out of this alive. Bucky _ was _a righteous man, and he wouldn’t want to hurt Steve, no matter if he loved him or not. “And I’m not asking for that. But I know you care about me. You give a damn, and that _has_ to be enough. We don’t need to talk about it, or--or make things strange, we can just focus on getting you--all of you--back to one piece. B-Because I don't see a future for myself that d-doesn't include you. I _need_ you to b-be okay.” 

Bucky watches him with a small furrow between his brow, his eyes searching Steve's. “Steve,” He breathes, like the name is a secret kept just between them. “Stevie…” 

“I said we don’t have to talk about it,” Steve grumbles, looking away. "I just want you to tell me you'll fight. That you w-won't give up."

“Ace,” Bucky whispers. “Look at me.” 

Reluctantly, Steve’s eyes slide back over to meet Bucky’s. 

“_You’re_ the idiot. You’re a goddamn punk, actually,” Bucky is shaking his head, taking a step closer to Steve. “Stevie, doll--shit. Of course I love you. How could anyone not love you? You’re,” Bucky swallows, eyes raking over Steve slowly, drinking in every inch of him. Steve felt ugly, in that moment, and exposed, all of his crushed bones and open wounds there on his face, in his eyes, in the way his hands were shaking. But Bucky didn’t look at Steve like he was ugly. 

He looked at Steve like Steve was some sort of angel, like a religious man finally seeing the face of something divine, of the only God he had ever believed in, ever prayed to. It was intense, that look, and it made Steve feel a little stronger knowing that he was one of the privileged few to have Bucky Barnes look him up and down and then wet his lips.

_Bucky loved him. _

Bucky Barnes loved _ him. _The thing between them, the thing that had been hiding in all the little pet names and the lingering looks and the passion of last night--it was this. Love. 

“Look,” Bucky murmurs, voice low. “I’m, it’s….What I’m trying to say is that yeah. Yeah, I fuckin’ love you.” Bucky isn’t blushing. He’s not hiding his face--he’s perfectly at ease confessing his love to Steve, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. There is no uncertainty, no shame. “I love you, Steve.” 

“Buck,” Steve breathes, forgetting every other word in his vocabulary. 

This was everything; the particles of Steve were bonding back together at those words, his wounds were stitching themselves up, binding to Bucky . He saw a light at the end of what, ten minutes ago, seemed like a very dark tunnel. 

The awe in Bucky’s face fades away slowly, feature by feature. They stare at each other. 

“Doesn’t change anything,” Bucky whispers, like he’s sorry to have to say so. He stares hard at the ground. “It doesn’t. I’m sorry, Steve.”

The light in the tunnel goes out. 

Darkness. Steve’s heart rumbles, wanting to break apart again. 

“It changes _everything_.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Bucky snaps, stepping back to put some space between them again. “I ain’t gonna be the one to suck the light outta you.” 

“What?” Steve blinks, not understanding. "What are you talking about?" 

“Your eyes,” Bucky explains impatiently, like this was a metaphor Steve should automatically understand. He gestures to Steve’s face. “They’re always so--so full of light. You’ve got so much _ fight _in you, Ace. So much hope.” Bucky tugs on his hair, in a sharp, frustrated movement. “I don’t want to be the one to suck the light out. I won't be.” 

He really was a goddamn idiot. He was trying to make a martyr out of himself--and Steve wouldn’t let him.

“You’re the one that put the light there to begin with,” Steve murmurs fiercely, jabbing an accusatory finger at Bucky. “You don’t wanna put the light out? Then _ live.” _

Bucky stares at him for a long time, his expression unreadable. After a few moments of silence, He scrubs a hand through his hair, and then gestures crudely to the coffee table. “Read the file," he demands hoarsely. "Cover to cover."

Steve’s eyes move to the file Natasha had dropped on to his coffee table. It was black, with a single red star in the centre. It was old and worn, like it had been opened many times. It looked menacing, like Pandora’s box. 

“No.” Steve says simply. 

“Because you’re afraid to know what I’ve done.” 

Steve wipes his nose on the sleeve of his sweater unceremoniously. “No. Because n-nothing in that file is going to change anything for me. You’re still a good man, you’re just a good man who had terrible things done to him,” Steve pulls the sleeves of his sweater down over his hands, and wraps his arms around himself to hold all of his broken pieces together. “If you agree to fight, and...and not let Hydra win, things could be so d-different, Buck. We could be _ together. _” 

Bucky makes a frustrated sound. “It wouldn’t be that simple--”

Steve uncurls again, and moves slowly, deliberately, so that he’s standing right in front of Bucky, just centimeters between his chest and the cold air that should be Bucky’s solid body. 

“We could be together,” He repeats, and brings both of his hands up to hover around Bucky’s face. If Bucky were solid, he’d be holding Bucky’s bewildered face in both of his hands. But now, there is only air.

“We could make each other pancakes,” Steve whispers, his voice so low and quiet he could hardly hear himself over the rush of blood in his ears. He wasn’t fighting fair, and he knew it. But if there ever was a time to fight dirty, this was it, and he refused to feel guilty for doing so. He would use everything he had to convince Bucky that this was a cause worth fighting for.

“You could teach me how to dance, for real, and I could mess up your hair and kiss you on the nose and you could rub my back during an asthma attack or _ hold _me.” Steve’s eyes search Bucky’s, looking for a yearning, a hint that Bucky wants the scene Steve is painting out for them. “You could just hold me, Buck. Don’t you want that?” 

“Of course I do,” Bucky’s says, voice low. Steve can tell, now, with the way he’s looking down at him, that Bucky wants him. It’s written all over his face. His pupils are wide, the same way they were last night, and his lips were slightly parted, pink and waiting. 

“We could fall asleep beside each other. You could--Christ, Buck, you could touch me. _Really_ touch me, like I’ve been dying for. Like I wanted you to last night.” 

Bucky wets his lips. “I could kiss you,” His voice sounds wrecked, rough and uneven. “I’d kiss you for hours, sweetheart.” 

“Yeah, Buck, you could,” Steve nods eagerly, stretching up on his toes to bring their lips just centimeters apart. It was cruel of him to do, when they both knew they couldn’t kiss, couldn’t touch yet, but Steve was making a point. “You could kiss me and you’d never, ever have to stop.” 

Bucky breathes heavily. There is a pause, and then Bucky steps away, creating space between them. “You’re a goddamn punk.” Bucky side eyes him, but there is no venom in his tone, only tired resolve. 

Steve goes back down on flat foot, folding his arms defensively over his chest. “If you want me to read the file, I will read it. But you need to promise me that when I’m done and when I still feel exactly the same, that you’ll help me get you away from Hydra.” 

“You’re not going anywhere _ near _Hydra--” Bucky sounds like he’s about to go off on a very heated rant/lecture about how vehemently he did _not_ want Steve around the Nazi organization, so Steve rolls his eyes and cuts him off. This, at least, was familiar. Talking Bucky out of his worry, Steve knew how to do. 

“Easy, Buck. I _ meant _my friends will get you away from Hydra. They’ve got the guns n’stuff.” Steve lets out a long breath. “So?” Steve prompts softly, unable to hide the hope that colours his tone. “Do we have a deal?” 

Bucky lets out a long breath. “I will try,” He says slowly. “To get back to you. But if I hurt anyone, or if I become a risk to you--especially to you--you’ll tell your friends that they need to kill me.” 

Steve shudders. The thing was that he knew Natasha would have no problem with those terms, the problem would be convincing them to _ not _kill Bucky. He didn’t want to argue about that now, so he nodded his head. “Okay. Deal.” 

“Deal,” Bucky murmurs. They couldn’t shake on it, but they nodded together and it felt final. Sealed with Satan’s approval. 

“Okay,” Steve exhales again, a new kind of exhaustion rolling over him like a tidal wave. “Let me get my glasses.” 

\----- 

Steve reads. 

He has to stop twice to throw up, and then after that, once more, to dry heave into a bucket, when his stomach is empty of all its contents but still rolling from the gory pictures and accounts in the file. 

The words are too descriptive, Steve’s imagination runs too wild, and he is haunted by all the ways Hydra made Bucky scream. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that inspired this chapter's title is called "Fade" By Lewis Capaldi!!! Everything by Capaldi is GORGEOUS!! This song just...ugh. Gets me everytime. 
> 
> As always, comments & kudos are much, much appreciated. I hope everyone had a lovely holiday season, and is gearing up for the best year every as 2020 rolls around!!


	10. One Thousand Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve try to find a way to be, after everything they've discovered. Steve meets with Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some brief descriptions of torture, canon typical. Take care of yourselves, loves <3

_Cause if you're alone, if you're alone_   
_How can I save you?_   
_I find a way to make your love more complicated_   
_What if I could change, if I could change if you could save me?_   
_So find a way to miss a thousand times_

_I don't want to live without your love_   
_Oh, oh_   
_I tell you what you want to hear if_   
_What you want is incomplete_   
_I don't want to live without your love_   
_I've been wondering what to change if_   
_I can look the other way_   
_I seem to remember how it felt to be crushed by something_   
_Walk until you see no water_   
_Just in case it doesn't appear_   
_Take advantage of the summer_

\- One Thousand Times, James Vincent McMorrow

* * *

As Steve is done reading the pages, he sets them aside carefully, gently, and Bucky skims over them with a forlorn look on his face. His eyes pause at certain phrases, at the names of people the Winter Soldier executed. And each time, he simply blinks a few times at the page, and reads on. They get through the entire thing in this manner.

They are silent, but it is a heavy silence that sits between them. Uncomfortable and tense, it makes Steve skin want to crawl off. 

When Steve has read the last page, he takes a long drink of water with ginger that he’d been nursing to stave off the nausea, and sets it down with a sense of finality. His fingers shake hard enough that some water spills out of the cup and onto the coffee table. He feels numb and raw at the same time. 

“Okay,” He says, throat hoarse from crying and from puking. “O-Okay.”

Bucky glances up at him. He doesn’t say anything for a while, watching Steve scrub at his eyes to catch the few stray tears that stuck around stubbornly. Then he tightens his jaw, as if steeling himself for something. 

“So now you know.” 

“I read the file,” Steve agrees. His lip curls up in disgust. “And now we’re going to get you the hell away from those monsters.” 

Bucky stares at him with an incredulous face, like that was the last response he was expecting to hear.

“What do you mean?” He shakes his head at Steve and his eyes drift elsewhere in self-loathing. “You saw the things I’ve done. _ I’m _the monster. You were disgusted by me.” 

Steve frowns. His mind was fuzzy both from being sick and from the trauma of the past few hours.

“I was disgusted at the files. Because it details the things Hydra did to _ you.” _There were diagrams, and every explicit detail had been precisely translated from what Steve was pretty sure was Russian into perfect English. He assumed he had Natasha to thank for that. Or to blame, depending on how he wanted to look at it. 

Seeing the details of what they made Bucky do made Steve equally as sick, but not for the reasons Bucky would think. For every name on every mission report that Winter Soldier was responsible for killing, Steve saw a lack of free will, he saw suffering for the victim and the Soldier--who was _ also _a victim, guilt that would stay with Bucky forever. It seemed to be an endless cycle of hurt.

Bucky studies his face for a hint of a lie and must not find one, because he swallows hard and looks away without saying anything, as if he believed he was undeserving of the empathy and mercy he saw on Steve’s face. "You're crazy," Bucky says so softly that Steve's is half sure he imagined it. 

“Buck,” Steve says gently. He had to be careful about the way he approached this; things were delicate between them, they hung in the balance. _ Bucky _was delicate right now, and rightfully so. Steve was feeling pretty damn breakable himself. 

“What they did to you is…” he tries to find a word that is ugly enough, horrible enough, but he can’t, no such words existed. “What they’re _ doing _to you, right now, even--even right in this moment, they’ve got your body frozen in a chamber, somewhere close enough that you were out this morning. Nat and the others saw you, you can’t be far...” 

He pauses, waiting to see if Bucky will react, but he only stares ahead with a blank face, impossible to read.

“The things they’ve done to you are inhumane, they’re horrible. And yeah. You’ve done some...bad stuff,” Steve nods slowly, minds flashing to the list of names in the files, lives that Bucky took away. “But not unforgivable things. And it’s not like you had a choice.”

“You have to say those things,” Bucky whispers, his body tense all over like he was fighting the urge to bolt away from Steve's devastated face. “You have to.” 

“Like hell I do. I could pack my stuff up and get out of this apartment and never think about you again.” It was a lie, really. Steve _ could _leave if he wanted, but he didn’t think there was a world left for him that would let him forget about Bucky Barnes.

Bucky’s eyes flash up sharply to his, then, as if considering this situation as a real threat, like Steve might actually leave him. It's the first reaction Steve has been able to get out of him since he opened the file--it reassures him a bit, that Bucky was still in there, not retreating into some dark corner of his mind where Steve wouldn't be able to reach him. 

“But I’m not leaving, am I?” Steve asks rhetorically, folding his arms over his chest. “I am barely five foot six inches, ninety-one pounds, Buck. I’ve got absolutely no business sticking my nose in Hydra operations. I should be running for the hills, probably.. This stuff is...scary. And dangerous, and it’s real.” As he says the words, Steve realizes how true they are. “But I don’t want to run. I can’t even _think_ about running--the thought of walking away from this makes me feel physically sick. Because my Ma taught me not to turn my back on the people I love. So if it takes me storming into a Hydra base with three superheroes and a whole lot of hope...then shit, Buck, I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever it takes.” 

Bucky’s face goes soft and open, and it’s an expression that makes Steve want to lean into him, sigh in relief and relish the moment, because it’s so familiar---_ that’s _his Bucky, right there in the pale expanse of those sea-foam eyes, in the parted lips and the messy curls. He was back. The darkness was still there, lurking in the back of Bucky’s eyes, it was there in the way he held himself, but he cracked apart to let the light in, if only just a little. 

“You’re really not going to give this up.” Bucky mused gently, leaning back against the wall, shoving his hands into the pocket of his dark green army-issued pants. “Stubborn one, you are.”

“That’s right,” Steve sniffles, sticking his chin out proudly.“I’m in it for the long haul.” 

"I should try to talk you out of this," Bucky considers him, watching Steve through his bottom lashes. "Right?" 

Steve shrugs lazily. "You should try," He agrees, "But I think you just know you'll be wasting both of our time. When I commit to something, I don't give up." 

Bucky watches him curiously, and then lets out a long sigh, surrendering. “‘Till the end of the line then, Ace? Whatever Hell that may be?” 

Steve clenches his jaw and nods once, solidified in his resolve. “‘Till the end of the line,” he echoes. 

It feels more like an _ I love you. _

***

For the rest of the day, they just enjoy existing, together, in the same space.

Bucky notices Steve’s phone pinging with messages a few times, but each time he only picks up the phone, reads the messages, and sets it down again without typing out a reply, his face getting tight for a moment at the screen before he sets it out of view.

Bucky isn’t watching the sitcom on TV. He’s too busy trying to memorize Steve’s face, every last detail, down to the hairs of his eyebrows and the exact colour of his eyes. If he could commit those details to memory, maybe when he--the Winter Soldier--woke up from cryo, he’d remember Steve. Maybe he wouldn’t want to hurt him. 

That was the worst thing Bucky could think of, the most bitter ending to their story. Bucky read the file, he understood and somewhat remembered what he was capable of once he had a body and a gun. He was efficient, non-emotional, and extremely dangerous. 

And Steve--Steve was _ brave, _ so brave it terrified Bucky. When other civilians would be running for the hills, Steve was digging in his heels and lifting that stubborn chin, and was refusing to give up on Bucky.

Bucky was _ terrified _, because he knew, if it came down to it, Steve wouldn’t be afraid of the Winter Soldier, and that lack of fear would be enough to end his life.

Steve would look the Winter Soldier in the eyes, and would reach out and try to make him see reason. He would end up dead for it, and if Bucky’s memories ever came back to the Winter Soldier, he would live with that heavy guilt for the rest of his life. It would be a guilt worse than all others, one he knew he would never be free of.

Steve’s friends were good people. 

They were reasonable. They would try their best to keep Steve safe; they loved him, after all, and they had the resources to protect him effectively, even against Bucky. Steve’s friends perceived Bucky as a threat, and that, at least, was a comfort.

He needed Steve to fear him, for his own _ safety. _

“What are you thinkin’ bout, Buck? You look like your mind is going a million different directions,” Steve hums softly, interrupting Bucky’s inner monologue. 

Bucky blinks, snapping out of it, and offers a charming smile, hoping to distract Steve from prying too much. 

Bucky was tired of having heavy conversations, and he felt like being selfish. Every second they now had together was on borrowed time. 

Hydra could pull the Soldier out of cryo at any second, and Bucky would be plucked away from Steve, for who knows how long. Bucky had to cherish the time they had together. Each second was fleeting. 

“Nothin’, Ace. Just thinkin’ about how pretty you are,” Bucky murmurs smoothly. It’s not a lie; he was always enraptured by Steve’s beauty, his masculine jaw and strong nose, his thick brow and full, pink lips. Those eyes, framed with the darkest, thickest lashes, prettier than Bucky had ever seen on any dame. His legs, the long, pale expanse of them, the bones of his spine--

“Jeez,” Steve scoffs with an ey-eroll, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. “Sorry I asked, Romeo.” 

Bucky snorts at that. Steve is curled up on the other end of the couch, as far away from Bucky as he can be. Bucky knows he radiates cold air, and Steve isn’t feeling well, cold enough as it is without Bucky’s freezing presence. Bucky had tried insisting on moving to the other side of the room, but Steve refused to let him, and so this was their compromise. 

Bucky, selfishly, imagined for a moment a world where they succeeded, got his body back and his memories, a world where he and Steve just lived day in and day out in domestic bliss. He used to run hot--maybe the Winter Soldier did, too. He could open up his arms and Steve would burrow into him. Bucky could offer him warmth and comfort and something solid to fall back on, some kind of protection that wasn’t superficial. 

That dream felt far away, out of reach.

“What? I’m allowed to stare at you. We’re…” Bucky trails off, suddenly unsure. What were they, really? They hadn’t talked about that. They had both confessed their feelings. In Bucky’s day, he’d call it _ going steady, _ and nowadays, they might call it _ dating, _but the term felt too juvenile for their situation, and, truthfully, they had never even been on a date. They had never even kissed. 

Steve wet his lips, and Bucky tracks the movement hungrily, thinking about last night, about Steve’s feverish body and his hands wrapped tight around his own cock, coming undone right in front of Bucky, writhing in the sheets and biting down on his lip to keep quiet. Thinks about the things he would do to Steve if could get his hands on him, if he was in his right mind to even be trusted around Steve.

“We’re...in love.” Steve suggests softly, with a shy smile. His tone has more hope than Bucky had felt since hearing about his true identity, and its part of the reason he’s so gone for Steve. Steve never gives up hope--not really. Bucky was afraid that _ he _would be the reason Steve stops fighting with everything he has because he believes in right from wrong, the reason he stopped laughing with his whole body or smiling in his sleep. Bucky didn’t know what he’d do if he ever saw the light leave those bright blue eyes. “Right?” 

Bucky returns the smile, his heart giving a fond squeeze for Steve. In all of his years of loneliness in this apartment, of people coming in and Bucky pushing them away, he never thought he would get this; a beautiful boy, staring at him with such love, such trust. “That’s right, doll. We’re in love.” 

It felt like the best kind of blessing. Like more than he deserved. 

Steve’s smile grows a little wider as he watches Bucky, but it slowly fades from his features, and he casts his eyes down, at his hands. He wrings out his fingers and clasps and unclasps his hands, a nervous gesture Bucky has noticed Steve is prone to when he’s thinking something but won’t say it. 

“Spit it out, Ace,” Bucky urges quietly. They couldn’t stand to have secrets between them at a time like this. Nothing could afford to go unsaid when words were such a precious thing. 

Steve looks up at him, a little startled, as if he thought he was being pretty secretive about hiding whatever was on his mind. But Bucky had had a lot of time to study Steve, his habits, his expressions. They knew each other well, even if it hadn’t been that long.

“It’s nothing,” Steve shrugs; a terrible lie. Bucky sees right through it.

Bucky frowns. “Let’s not start lying to each other now.” 

Steve clenches his jaw and then relaxes it, giving in. “It’s just,” He shrugs again, frail shoulders rising and falling. “I don’t... fit in.” 

Bucky hesitates for a moment, his mind blanking. That wasn’t where he was expecting this conversation to go, but Steve looks so put-out about the confession that Bucky knows he needs to tread lightly. “What do you mean?” 

“Well,” Steve says carefully. Bucky can tell he’s selecting his words very carefully before saying them. “Natasha, Clint and Sam are the heroes. The Avengers. Their role is to, _ I hope, _ get you away from Hydra, once they get it through their thick skulls that you are _ good. _ I mean, their role is to save people. Help people.” He explains softly. “And you--you’re role is--”

“Damsel in distress?” Bucky suggests, trying to lighten the mood. “Psychotic-murdering-undead-dead guy?”

Steve continues as if he hadn’t spoken, and Bucky sees that his attempt at playfulness failed. “You’re the all-powerful-highly-trained assassin/torture-victim,” Steve explains. “You’re the centre of it all. But me? I’m just a skinny kid from Brooklyn that got caught up in something he doesn’t understand.” 

Bucky sees the pain in Steve’s eyes, sees how much he truly believes the words.

“Hey,” Bucky says roughly. He’d do anything to get that lost look out of Steve’s eyes. “Look at me.” Steve does. “_You’re_ the centre of it all, Ace, not me,” Bucky says earnestly. “You’re the only reason I might get a second chance at the whole living thing. If not for you, if we had never met, the Avengers wouldn’t question the order to kill me, no one would know who I really am. If not for you, no one would know that the Winter Soldier has a name.” And it was true. 

Steve _ was _ the centre of it all. He was the true hero, fighting for Bucky when no one else would, when no one else saw that he was worth fighting for. _ Steve _ made Bucky stronger, _ Steve _saw the light in him even when he himself could only see darkness. Steve had the strength in his heart to keep hoping when every odd was against him. 

Steve purses his lips, considering Bucky's words. It's probably one of the things Bucky appreciates most about Steve, his ability to listen. Sure, the kid was stubborn as a mule and when he dug his heels in, God help anyone who was on the opposite side of that temper. But when you spoke, Steve listened with his whole body, gave you every ounce of his attention. 

“This world, your world, the world of the Avengers, it’s not _ my world _,” Steve argues quietly, shaking his head, “I don’t fit in. Even if what you say is true, that...that us meeting might help save your life....it doesn’t feel like that. I feel like I’m going to watch my friends get hurt, like I’m going to lose you, and I won’t be able to do a damn thing about it.” 

Bucky wants to tug Steve into his arms. If he could, he would grab him around the waist, tug him onto his lap and let Steve bury his cool nose into the warmth of Bucky’s neck. He would stroke Steve’s hair and kiss his forehead and Steve could listen to Bucky’s heartbeat under his ear. They could just _ be. _What Bucky wouldn’t give to feel the weight of Steve’s small body curled up in his arms.

But of course, for now, that is impossible. From what Bucky remembers of his time as the Winter Soldier, he wasn’t sure if it would _ ever _ be possible, that a monster like that could learn to be gentle with someone as precious as Steve Rogers. He didn’t know if a heart blackened by years of hatred and pain and death could ever learn to love. 

He won’t say these things out loud, though. Steve had hope, still. Bucky would _ not _ be the one to take that away from him. All he had to do was fight to commit the things he loved most about Steve to memory. If he could burn them, carve them, into his brain, then there would be hope that when he woke up from cryo, he would remember _ something _of the skinny blond boy that owns his heart. As long as there is something, it would be enough. It had to be.

That way, if the Winter Soldier and Steve ever come face to face, Bucky would remember enough about Steve to know he was not to be harmed. As long as that much memory could be preserved, they’d be okay. 

As for the love part, falling in love with Steve was inevitable, for Bucky. He would fall for him over again, when the Winter Soldier comes to know him. He had to believe that much was true, for the sake of his sanity. He didn’t think a universe existed where Bucky Barnes doesn’t love Steve Rogers.

“What you can do,” Bucky murmurs. “Is hope.” 

Steve snorts dryly. “Yeah, ‘cause that will do so much when my friends try to put a bullet in your head.” 

Bucky thinks that is exactly what he deserves, to be put down like a rabid dog, but he won’t dare to tell Steve that. Instead, he frowns deeply. 

“Steve,” He says softly, a warning. He doesn’t want to do this anymore. “Don’t.” 

“Well, it’s true. You heard them. They’re going to try and kill you.”

“Yeah.” 

“And you want me to just..._ hope _ that they find it within themselves to...to not?” 

“Yes.” 

Steve groans in frustration, burying his head in his hands. “It’s like you don’t even _ care, _Buck! I thought we agreed that we were worth fighting for--”

“Steve,” Bucky interrupts again, shaking his head. “It’s not that I don’t think _ we’re _ worth it.” Unspoken, but hanging in the air just as plainly as if Bucky had shouted it, were the words, _ I don’t think I am. _

Steve wets his lips, and Bucky sees that angry storm coming to his face again, Steve was about to explode into a righteous and heated speech about how Bucky is the victim, about how Bucky deserves to live, deserves happiness. 

No one advocated for Bucky’s victims like that. People who died by the cold metal of his hands, staring into his dead eyes, begging for their life. People who never got a chance, because of Bucky. Why did he deserve to live, and they didn’t? 

He had agreed to fight for Steve's sake, because he wouldn't let the light go out on those gorgeous blue eyes, because Steve was young and wonderful and he deserved the world, and Bucky could't tell him _no, let me go, _without breaking his heart. 

Just as Steve opens his mouth, his phone rings. Steve glares between his phone, and Bucky, and then back at his phone again, before saying through clenched teeth, “This ain’t over,” 

“Scout’s honour,” Bucky mutters sarcastically, and Steve answers the phone with a flat, “Hello.” 

His eyebrows lift at whatever reply he hears on the other end. “Oh,” Steve blinks, looking surprised. “Uh, _yeah_, sure, of course. Yeah. Okay. Seven? Yeah, that works for me. Okay, thanks, Sam. I’ll see you then.” 

Steve hangs up, and Bucky arches a brow. “What was that about?” he inquires. 

Steve, his rotten mood forgotten, lets a slow smile spread across his face. “That,” Steve says cheerily, “Was hope.” 

\----------

That evening, Steve meets Sam for coffee. It’s too late for coffee, really, and Steve knows that any ounce of caffeine at this hour was just going to make him jittery and upset, unable to sleep. He orders a tea in the hopes that it will grant him rest, but he knows it’s a futile effort. 

The day has been long and hard, and if sleep does come to him tonight, it will not be a restful slumber, but one plagued with the dark dreams of all the creative ways Hydra had had its tentacles all over Bucky. He shudders at the thought.

Sam orders an Americano with an extra shot of espresso, and Steve isn’t surprised. The guy drank coffee like he was made of the stuff. They are quiet while they wait for their drinks, a tense silence between them filled with the background noise of the steamer and general coffee shop hum.

When their names are called, they get a corner booth tucked away from prying eyes. The cafe is mostly empty except for a few students working eagerly at their laptops, fingers flying and headphones in. They wouldn’t care for anything Sam or Steve had to say, so long as they kept their voices down. 

“Thanks for meeting me,” Sam begins stiffly. The formality makes Steve uncomfortable, like something between them had been lost. Sam had seen him at the lowest points of his life. Steve had stitched up Sam’s literal _ bullet wounds _with his bare hands. They were family, it didn’t feel fair to have this strangeness between them.

“Why did you ask me here, Sam?” Steve asks quietly, half afraid to hear. He was so sure that Sam was going to deliver good news, but the far away look on Sam's face made him doubt the happy feeling that had swelled up in his chest at Sam's phone call. Steve had to brace himself, he didn't want any more bad news today. “And don’t lie.” 

“I want to talk, after you read the file and had some time to think.” It was a fair response, as honest as Steve could have hoped for. Sam was a better liar than Steve, but he had his tells and Steve knew them. He nods, satisfied. 

“Have you thought about what I asked?” Steve murmurs, sliding his finger around the rim of his mug serenely. 

He was still getting over his cold, his body was tired and his mind couldn’t stop flashing back to the files. Steve didn’t have a photographic memory--at least, he never had before--but he could see every page in his mind so clearly it felt as though they were on the table before him, the photographs of Bucky’s dead eyes boring holes into his head.

Sam takes a sip of his coffee, buying more time before answering Steve. “I have,” he replies carefully. 

“And?”

“And...I don’t know. You’re asking a lot of me here, man. More than I think you know.” 

Steve tugs on the tea bag floating around in his drink. He watches amber liquid spill out of it and stain the rest of the water. It reminds him of blood. “Sam, I’m asking you not to kill the man I love.” 

Sam laughs without humour, not looking up. It’s an empty sound. “If only it were that simple.” 

“It could be,” Steve mutters stubbornly, but he knows that isn’t true. This was no longer his civilian world. He had entered a world of gunfire and politics, and back fence deals with shady white men in expensive suits. People in lab coats who torture soldiers and turn them into weapons, superheroes who were under orders from other superheroes. 

Steve was so out of his element it hurt his head to think about. Like he told Bucky, he didn’t belong. There was no room for him--he didn’t fit into this world.

“Let’s forget about love for a second,” Sam proposes. He takes a sip of his coffee before continuing, like he needed the strength of caffeine before he could continue. 

“I’ve got orders to shoot on site. It’s not too often that we don’t at least _ try _to take someone in alive, especially a Hydra operative. It’s much more valuable to find out what they know than it is to kill ‘em onsite and keep guessing, you get that? It's why so many Hydra agents keep cyanide on them. They end it if they’re captured, because they know the information we get out of them is more valuable than their lives,” Sam talks like he’s a highschool math teacher trying to lay out a difficult algebraic problem for Steve. 

Steve blinks slowly. “Okay,” he says, to show he’s following along. Everything Sam was saying made sense so far. He would listen to Sam's side--he owed his friend that much. 

“But with the Soldier,” Sam clears his throat roughly. “With _Bucky,_ we’re not trying to do that. Because he’s too dangerous to try to take alive. Do you understand, Steve? This man is _ so _ dangerous, that our orders are just to do whatever is necessary to take him down, ASAP. For our safety, and...well, everyone's.” 

Steve lets out a long breath. The weight of Sam’s words settles into Steve’s heart. The Winter Soldier was dangerous. Notoriously so.

But Steve loved him.

“I understand.” 

“So, if I promise you right here and now that I’m not going to kill the Winter Soldier, I could just be promising you that I’m going to let him... kill me.” Sam pauses to let that sink in. It does. 

A pang of panic clutches his chest. Bucky, hurting Sam? It seemed impossible to consider, but Steve needed to remember that this wasn’t really _ his _ Bucky they were dealing with. 

The Winter Soldier didn’t know compassion, because it had never been shown to him. He didn’t understand love, because no one had ever been gentle with his heart. Steve had read the file, he knew the terrible things they did to Bucky, none of them resembling anything close to kindness.

Steve's voice is barely audible when he rasps out, “I don’t want that.” 

“I know you don’t. Look, I know this is hard, but. You need to understand that Bucky is buried _ deep _ in the Soldiers consciousness. He’s not going to start talking in a Brooklyn slang and become all happy-go lucky just because we get him away from Hydra. He’s programmed. And the programming goes _ deep. _ You’re talking about cramming two consciousness into one.” 

“But,” Steve points out, unable to back down, “If he’s programmed, there’s got to be a way to….un-program him, right? Some way to reverse what they did? A way to bring back his memories of me and--and the war n’stuff?” What he was saying made sense in his head, but when he said the words out loud they felt foolish and stupid, like a child trying to explain something they didn’t understand. 

Sam purses his lips tightly, not looking convinced, but he does take Steve's words in. Steve is glad, at least, to see that Sam doesn't just dismiss him, no matter what logic Steve presented him with. That meat there was indeed hope. “Maybe...but we don’t know that for sure. You’re asking me to take a big risk for a very small chance that you might be able to get Bucky back.” 

Steve scrubs a hand over his face in frustration. They were running in circles. “What are you trying to tell me, Sam? Did you ask me here just to tell me again that I’m going to lose him?” He snaps. He knows his voice is harsh, maybe harsher than necessary, but he was hurt, and when he was hurt he tended to lash out. 

“I asked you here because I’m worried about you. We all are,” Sam tells him gently, not reacting to the biting voice Steve had used, all too used to the bark without the bite. Steve had a temper with everyone, but only ever acted when he knew something was really wrong. “You’ve gotten into something much, _ much _bigger than yourself, and you’re.” Sam gestures to Steve, sitting in the booth across from him. “You’re not _well_, Steve. I don’t know if your mind is in the right place about all this.” 

Steve imagines how he must look to Sam. Red nose, watery eyes from crying all day, greasy hair that he couldn’t be bothered to style or even cover with a beanie. The bags under his eyes were a deep purple colour, from stress and lack of sleep. He sat curled up small in the booth, arms wrapped around himself like if he let go he’d fall to pieces right there in the cafe. 

“I’m sick,” Steve argues flatly. “No one looks good when they’re sick.” He sniffles wetly for emphasis. It wasn’t technically a lie, he _ was _sick, though really that probably only accounted for about 25% of why he looked so terrible. 

“You’re unwell,” Sam corrects, and there is a difference, Steve knows. “I mean, I’m scared, man. I don’t want you to slip like you did when your mom passed--”

“This is nothin like that,” Steve snapped, slamming his hand down on the counter. A few weary students turn to glare at him for his disruption, but Steve doesn’t care, that comment stung. “There wasn’t any_ hope _ for her, she got a death sentence that day and it was downhill from there.” Steve pauses shakily, twisting his arms back around his middle. “With Bucky, it’s _ different. _I had accepted that...that our conversations were all I was gonna get. He was _dead_. Do you know what thats like? Loving someone whose hand you can never hold? Who--who can't even leave the house with you?" Steve shuddered. "But,” He inhales shakily, the breath burning his throat as he drags it in. “Now, you tell me today, he’s not dead. With Buck, there’s _hope_. He’s alive.” Steve retracts his hand, staring down at it like it had betrayed him. “And hope is a whole lot worse. Hurts a hell of a lot more.” 

Sam watches him wearily, like he’s a broken toy that no one will want to take home. “What is it about this guy that makes you so crazy about him?” Sam murmurs. “Help me understand, Steve, because this is terrifying for me, and if I’m going to go against orders, against...everything, so help me God,” Sam pauses to look upwards and then blinks hard, “Then I need to know that I’m doing it for the right reasons, not just saving a very dangerous Hydra assassin because he’s handsome.” 

The words sting a little, but Steve knows Sam has a good point. Steve needed to make him see. 

“Bucky Barnes is the best man I know,” Steve stares into his tea, the blood water, watches the steam rolling off of it. “He’s...got all these dumb petnames for me, like--like real old fashion names like _ doll _ or _ angel. _ S’dumb, but they make me feel really special.” His lips twitch again into a smile, despite himself. “And he taught me to dance, and told me I was brave for not backin’ down from a fight. He’s just,” Steve struggles to find the words. “He makes me laugh, Sam. At myself. At him. At the world. Everything is just better with him. I...I _ breathe _easier.” 

Sam has his face in his hands, and for a minute Steve wonders if he’s crying. 

“Fuck,” Sam breathes. “Jesus, fucking, _ fuck.” _

“Sam?” 

“Okay, you listen to me, you little shit. We’re going to do this, okay? But it is _ not _going to be easy, or safe or any nice adjective at all. Ever, at any point.” 

Steve’s chest swells with hope so strong he fears it may crack his ribs. “Okay,” he says too fast, nodding his head quickly. “Yes, okay, anything.”

Sam looks up to eye him warily. His brown eyes look nearly black, something sad and wise making them seem endless, like an abyss. “You could die.” 

It was a possibility that Steve had already considered. “I could always die, I’m human. I could choke on my morning bagel or have a heart attack or get hit by a bus or--”

“Or shot between the eyes by the man you love,” Sam suggests helpfully, voice dry. Steve doesn’t reply to that one. “That is a real possibility here, Steve. Do you understand that?” 

“Yes.” Steve works very hard to _not _conjure up a visual to go with that statement. He's got enough nightmare material from reading that file today, thanks very much. 

“Repeat after me: I, Steven Grant Rogers, am fully aware that this decision may result in my untimely demise, serious injury, and will most likely, definitely, end up traumatizing me mentally, for many years to come.” 

Steve repeats the words gently. He tries not to sound too happy. His heart was full of love for Sam. Sam, this amazing, selfless man who he’d met by chance, who had made a home for himself in Steve’s stubborn heart, and brought along with him two other wonderful humans who Steve is sure he now couldn’t live without. Sam, who was risking _ everything _because he saw something in Steve that made a faceless stranger who had shot at him worth saving. 

“Sam,” Steve swallows. “This--this means a lot--”

“Fuck,” Sam says again, staring up at the ceiling. It was still raining, but it was harder to hear over the sounds of the espresso machine and crooning jazz of the cafe. It smelled like blueberry muffins. “Have you talked to Bucky about this? What does he think?” 

Steve’s mood darkens. The discovery had left a shadow over Bucky’s face, some kind of darkness in his eyes that hadn’t gone away, no matter how much he laughed or smiled or tried to hide it.

“He wants us to get him out.” Steve lies. It’s a lie, because even though Bucky had agreed to fight, to not give up, Steve could tell he didn’t think he was worth a damn. If Steve hadn’t insisted, Bucky would have put his hands up and sung Steve a lullaby and let his friends bury him in a shallow grave without a word of protest. Hell, he’d probably _ thank _them. “He wants to try.” 

“If we do this,” Sam says slowly, deliberately, “You need to be all in. No backing down, no running away. Because if I do this, I’m turning my back on everything, and I’m not going to do that if you’re going to run away.” 

Steve reaches out one of his cold hands to cover Sam’s, which are strong and warm in comparison. Sam’s fingers twitch, and then grasp Steve’s own, covering them completely. Steve closes his eyes as some of the feeling comes back to his ice-cold digits. 

The hope of getting Bucky backs feels like a fresh breath of fresh air after he’d been choking on cigarette smoke for days on end. It had been less than 24 hours since finding out that his ghost was the Winter Soldier, but it felt like months, every second a small eternity within it’s own right.

"When have I ever been one to run away? I’m all in,” Steve whispers, putting everything into his tone, to convince Sam that there was no backing out. “One hundred percent.” Bucky would have done the same for him, if the roles were reversed. 

Steve would give everything for this, for _ him. _ He knew that not everyone in this life gets to fall in love, and yet some higher power, a God that Steve had always wanted to believe in but never really could after losing his mom, had decided _ he _gets this: an epic love, a man worth dying for. If Steve didn’t fit in before, he would make a space for himself.

Sam watches his face for what feels like a long time, and then nods once, finally. “Okay,” He says shortly. “Okay. We start tomorrow. I’ll be over at 6:00am. We don’t have time to waste.”

Something in Steve stitched into place at these words. They’d get Bucky back. They _ would. _

“What about Natasha, and Clint?” Steve is almost afraid to ask. Could they even do this without them? Natasha had seemed the most adamant about Bucky’s lack of virtue. If she truly believed that he was a danger, Steve knew she would trust her gut. 

Sam looks sad, staring into his coffee. He clears his throat before speaking. “It’s just going to be you and I on this one.” 

“Won’t they be mad?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sam nods. “They’ll be _ pissed.” _They share a secret little smile, but it’s sad, too. Agreeing to this may mean severing friendships, losing partnerships. It meant more for Sam than it did for Steve, Steve knew. Steve loved Nat and Clint--they were his best friends.

But for Sam, they were his best friends _ and _the people he trusted to watch his back while the was in the middle of a fight. People you trust that much don’t come around everyday. Sam would be losing a lot.

“6:00am,” Steve echos. “I’ll make cinnamon buns.” 

Sam sits back, releasing Steve’s hands. Steve misses the warmth, and tucks his fingers under his armpits. “Jeez,” Sam said, shaking his head. “Cinnamon buns? You shoulda just led with that.”

***

On his way home, Steve thinks, and the hopeful, somewhat light mood he’d had earlier in the cafe fades away to darkness as his mind wanders.

It’s raining, and it was too windy for him to keep his umbrella up without it folding over on itself, so he lets the rain into his bones, soaking him down to the core and running into his eyes. It’s cold, and the streets are an ugly mixture of snow and rain from the cranky weather of the last 48 hours. He’s shivering so violently it’s hard to keep a grip on walking straight.

He remembers. 

He remembers every word. 

_ Subject withstood programming to a satisfactory degree. Subject did not remember name when prompted. Programming session 34A labelled: SUCCESS. NO CORRECTIVE ACTIONS NECESSARY. _

_ Subject failed to withstand programming to a satisfactory degree. When prompted for MISSION REPORT, subject failed to comply. It was prompted again. Subject did not react. It was hosed down with cold water. It said, “I remember”. FAILURE: CORRECTIVE ACTIONS APPLIED: _ electroshock to the brain, pain receptors on HIGH. _ RESULT: Vocal cord damage from screaming; subject was unable to give MISSION REPORT. Repair needed. Follow up necessary. _

Steve shudders at the memory of the pages, the translations typed out neatly into little charts, categorizing every way Hydra tortured the man he loved, a man who _ winced _if Steve stubbed his toe, who fretted when he had a stomach cramp. The worst pain Steve had ever felt was _nothing_ compared to an average day in the life for the Winter Soldier.

His mind flashes then to Sam in the cafe, his tired face promising Steve that he would do his best. Steve knew he was asking a lot of Sam--without the support of Clint and Natasha, Sam would be on his own against Hydra, and while it would be alright while they planned out their next move, if Sam was going to storm into a Hydra base to get Bucky out, doing it alone would mean certain death. 

Sam was good, but he was just one person, and it wasn’t like Steve was going to be much help. He couldn’t fight or shoot a gun.

Steve bit his lip, hard, tasting the rain as it poured down. Could he really ask this of his friends? Was he being selfish by begging for their help? 

Bucky was hurting, Hydra was _ hurting _him, that was for sure. 

But how much more would it hurt when Bucky and the Winter Soldier combined for good? Steve knew how good a man Bucky was, how strong his morals were, and Steve just planned on thrusting all the memories of the things the Winter Soldier endured into his Bucky...wouldn’t that do more damage than good? Wouldn’t Bucky wither away under the guilt? 

Even since finding out, Bucky hasn’t been the same. By forcing him to remember everything, Steve might create more of a ghost out of Bucky than he already was.

“Please--don’t!” A female voice cries out, and Steve’s head snaps in that direction. 

He sees two men crowding a young girl--no older than 16, Steve would say--against a brick wall of an alleyway. Steve’s fists ball up as he instinct kicks in. Unfortunately, this was a scene he’d witnessed all too often on the New York streets. She was just a kid.

“I don’t see what the big deal is--we just want your number,” the bigger man croons. “It’s not nice to be impolite after someone compliments you, sugar.” 

“I h-have a boyfriend,” the girl stammers out, trying to shy away from the two men invading her space. 

“Well I don’t see him anywhere,” the smaller one pipes up. “He’s not very smart, leaving such a pretty little thing like you all alone in this part of town--”

Steve had seen enough. He was half a block away from home, he could see his building from here. If he got hurt bad, he would be okay. He’d be able to make it home, real easily. It would be selfish of him, wrong of him, to walk away when he could easily do something for the girl. If it were him, and it had been him before, he would have liked to know that a kind stranger had his back. 

“Hey!” Steve calls, stopping a few feet away from the men. He cracks his knuckles. “She said, she ain’t interested.” 

The men look up sharply. “And who the hell are you, punk? Are you her boyfriend or something?” 

Steve doesn’t dwell on the fact that these thugs were stupid enough to look at Steve and assume he was a sixteen year old straight boy. He sticks up his chin proudly. He couldn’t win Bucky back, he couldn’t take on Hydra, but he could do this, this small justice. A quiet mercy. “I’m someone who doesn’t like bullies. And you need to let her go, now.” 

“What are you gonna do about it, huh?” 

“Well, if you won’t listen to reason, then I’ll just have to make you,” Steve promises. 

Steve glances up to gage just how far is building was in case he got the shit kicked out of him--which he was sure he would--and is surprised to see Bucky’s face in the window, watching with a panicked expression. 

He’s mouthing something, banging against the glass. Probably calling Steve a slur of names, begging him to walk away, to not do this right now. 

But...there would be something so darkly _satisfying_ about hitting someone right now, taking out his anger and frustration. The rain was making it hard to see through his glasses. He takes them off, and tucks them into the breast pocket of his coat. His hair is soaked, his body is soaked, and rain runs into his eyes. He spits on the ground beside him and puffs up his chest. 

The two men laugh. “This is just adorable,” They broaden their shoulders, and Steve sees they’re both large, Bucky’s size probably. This wouldn’t end well for him, but when they turn to Steve, the girl is able to run to safety. She doesn’t look back. 

Good. She has good instincts. She’ll be fine.

“Alright,” Steve cracks his knuckles. Bucky would not forgive him for this, he knew it. “Let’s have some fun.” He punches the first guy squarely in the nose.

***

When they’re finished with him, it’s only minutes after Steve initiated the fight, and they stumble away, grumbling, leaving Steve lying in the street. 

He’s not injured that badly--no broken bones he can tell of, maybe his nose. Bruised ribs for sure, which sucked because he’d just about gotten over the ache from the dent Junkie had left in him, but it felt kind of good. 

They were drunk, and they’d only roughed him up a little. He was sure he looked worse than it really was, and the cool rain wasn’t helping him to feel any better.

At least now the outside could match how torn up Steve felt on the inside. 

It felt like the right end to a bad day, like the right kind of punishment for the guilt he felt about asking his friends to give up so much, the sorrow he felt over Bucky’s suffering.

The rain has got him absolutely soaked, and freezing cold, so he peels himself off the sidewalk slowly, and gets shakily to his feet.

With trembling fingers, he shoves his glasses back onto his face. When he looks up at the window again, Bucky’s face is not there.

***

Stumbling through the front door, Steve wastes no time getting out of his wet clothes. He instantly sheds his jacket and sweater, his boots and socks, dropping them all at the front door to deal with later. Shivering violently, Steve peels off his rain-soaked undershirt and his jeans, leaving him only in his black boxer-briefs.

With his arms wrapped around himself to preserve some warmth, Steve shuffled his way into the apartment, head down like a dog who knew he’d done wrong. 

He knew Bucky was here, could sense the life in the air around him. He hadn’t left.

“What the _ hell _was that.” 

Steve looks up. Bucky isn’t facing him, he’s staring at the window again, like maybe he hadn’t moved the whole time, although Steve knew just moments ago that Bucky hadn’t been there. He’d walked away. Perhaps watching Steve get the shit kicked out of him was hard to stand. Steve couldn’t really blame him for that.

“It was just a dumb fight.” Steve mumbles, shivering again. He feels small, not for the first time today, either. “Happens all the time. They were going to hurt that young girl--” 

“You could’ve said your piece and then walked away when she did.” 

“But I didn’t. And if I had, there is nothing saying that she’d have gotten away alright. Maybe they’d have chased her.” 

Bucky doesn’t answer for a few moments, and Steve stands, nearly naked in the living room, shivering with his skinny arms wrapped around his small frame. 

He wants desperately for Bucky to look at him, but at the same time, is afraid of what Bucky will think. He feels blood run from his nose and split lip, down his chin. It dribbles on the floor. He knows he is a hideous sight. 

“I ran you a bath.” Bucky says shortly. His tone in instructional. He still doesn’t turn around, and there is tension in the way he holds himself. There is a fight coming, Steve can feel it. “Go warm up.” 

Steve swallows. Of course, of _ course _Bucky would think of that. That must’ve been what he was doing the moment Steve looked up to see he was no longer watching. Bucky was always thinking of Steve, of what he needs, what could help him. He was always looking after him. 

Steve knew it was about time _ he _looked after Bucky, but for now, he really needed that bath.

“Th-thanks,” Steve chatters, and shuffles early towards the bathroom. 

The gorgeous footed tub was one of Steve’s favourite features of the apartment. The side was chipped a little in one corner, and the metal feet were tarnished, but it was large and beautiful, big enough to fit two comfortably, though he wasn’t sure he’d ever get the chance to test that theory.

The steam was rolling off the water, and it smelled like lavender; Bucky must have put some of Steve’s lavender epsom salts in. It would certainly help to ease his sore muscles, and the scent instantly made Steve feel a little less tense. Bucky had thought of everything.

Steve turns to face himself in the mirror, and gasps quietly as he sees himself. 

He looked like a corpse. His eyes were sunken and hollow, one of them slowly turning black from his fight. His nose bled freely and his split lip was swollen and bleeding, blood running down to his chin. New bruises were blooming over the old yellowed ones across his ribcage, which was just skin stretched so tightly over bone that he could count each one of his ribs. He had always been skinny, his whole damn life, but this was small, even for him. 

Skipping a few meals here and there as a result of his lack of appetite from being sick had caught up to him in a bad way.

No wonder Bucky didn’t want to look at him.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, and shucked his boxers, setting them aside to be put in the laundry to be done later. When he looked up again, fully naked, Bucky was standing behind him. 

Steve gasped, and moved to cover himself. “Buck!” He exclaimed, embarrassed. “Some privacy?” 

Bucky frowned at him through the mirror, their eyes meeting. “You don’t have to cover yourself,” Bucky murmurs. He looks less angry, his eyes a tad bit soft beneath the steel-blue. “I just want to see if you’re okay.” 

Steve looks down, ashamed. He knows he’s behaved childishly, and under Bucky’s solemn gaze, he feels even more stupid. “I’m fine.” 

“You look like hell.” 

“You ain’t the first one to tell me that today.” Steve’s face burns with shame. How could Bucky love him? _ Him? _ Bucky was, without a doubt, the best-looking guy Steve had ever seen. Bucky was trapped in this house, with no one to talk to but Steve in eighty years. Steve is the only person Bucky’s ever really been able to interact with, the only person who’s ever _ seen _him. 

The realization knocks the wind out of him. Bucky didn’t really love him; he only thought he did. Out of convenience. Out of necessity. It’s not like Bucky could have anyone else, he was trapped in this apartment. He’d realize, soon enough, once they got him back into his body, that he could have someone better than Steve.

“You’re also beautiful,” Bucky whispers. He raises his hand to brush it along the outside of Steve’s arm. Steve feels nothing but cold air, raising goosebumps all the way down. He shivers, and Buck pulls away. “Sorry,” Bucky murmurs, jaw working. He looks guilty. “You’re cold.” 

Steve isn’t sure how to take that compliment--he feels like the furthest thing from beautiful right now. Silently, he slips into the water one foot at a time, and then lowers himself down, letting out a little sigh of pleasure as the hot water warmed his bones. Once he was all the way in, he stretched his legs out in front of him, and sank back until his back rested against the wall of the tub. _ Bucky doesn’t want you. _

“Can you...put your hand, against my cheek?” Steve asks softly, his voice barely audible. He wants this, selfishly. He’ll take what he can get for as long as he can get it. “Please?” 

Bucky tilts his head consideringly, worrying at his bottom lip. Steve thinks he might refuse him, when he reaches out a hand and cups Steve’s bruised cheek, kneeling by the tub. It feels so good Steve lets out a long breath, the cool air of Bucky instantly soothing the throbbing swelling in his face. He tilts his head into the not-there touch. “T-Thank you.” 

Bucky doesn’t answer.

Steve closes his eyes, and tries to think about nothing at all. In fact, he tries really hard, just thinking about a black abyss, about emptiness. But emptiness leads to him thinking about heartbreak, and Bucky realizing eventually that he had been fooling himself with thinking that Steve could ever be enough for him. 

A single, shameful tear slides out of Steve’s closed eyes. He feels it run, quick and hot, down his cheek, and splash silently into the rest of the water. 

“Steve,” Bucky says worriedly. “Are you hurt? Is it your head? What--”

Steve doesn’t open his eyes. He doesn’t want to see the tender look on Bucky’s face, he couldn’t bear it. “S’nothing, Buck,” he whispers, but the words sound false, even to his ears. 

“Don’t lie.”

Steve considers just not replying, letting the silence sit between them for as long as Bucky would let it, but he lets out a long breath and shrugs his bony shoulders. “It’s stupid.”

“If it’s enough to make you upset, it ain’t stupid. Spit it out, Ace.”

“Well,” Steve swallows, finally opening his eyes. Bucky’s face is just inches away, his eyes hungrily searching Steve’s like he’ll find the answers he seeks hidden in their depths. “I just...I mean, it’s _ fine, _ really, ‘cause it’s just...how it is,” He squints. He wasn’t making any sense. He hugs his knees into his chest and tries again. “It’s no one’s fault, but. I mean obviously you only like me ‘cause you don’t have a choice. I’m the only one who can s- _ see _ you and talk to you. The only one in 80 years. So...so obviously you don’t really have anyone e-else. But I just,” Steve sniffles and fights back a sob, frustrated with himself for not being able to articulate better. “It just makes me sad, ‘cause I know that once we get you back into your body, and away f-from Hydra, you’re going to realize you can have anyone you want, and…” He shakes his head hopelessly. “I’ll l- _ lose _you.” 

Bucky is quiet for a long time. Steve is afraid to know what he’ll see if he looks at Bucky’s face, so he doesn’t. 

“Jesus christ,” Bucky whispers finally. “Is that really what you think?” 

Steve stares hard into the water. He doesn’t reply, and no more tears fall. 

“Steve,” Bucky tries, but Steve feels cold and shut off from him, like they’re worlds apart. “Stevie, look at me. _ Hey. _Look at me.” 

Steve resists for a moment longer, but Bucky’s gravity pulls him in, and they lock eyes.

Steve doesn’t see the eyes of someone who loved him for convenience, but for inevitability. Bucky looked at Steve like a drowning man seeing a lifeboat for the first time, like a religious man staring into the face of the God he would die for. 

The intensity of that gaze makes Steve's lips part in shock. To have such devotion written so clearly on Bucky's face--it was almost unbearable. 

“You’re right,” Bucky murmurs, his eyes locked with Steve’s, so that Steve can’t look away. His heart sinks at the words, the realization hitting him, when Bucky continues. “I didn’t have a choice. I _ had _ to fall in love with you, because, jesus, it’s impossible _ not _ to. I’m pretty sure everyone who meets you falls at least a _ little _bit in love with you, Ace. You’re captivating.” 

“But,” Steve sniffles. “But just _ look _ at me, Buck. And look at _ you. _We don’t match.” 

Bucky does look at him. Devours him. “I don’t deserve you,” Bucky nods. “I know that much. But I do love you, and I want...to be better, for you.” 

Steve closes his eyes, letting the words wash over his skin, like aloe on a sunburn. “Me, too,” He says desperately. “I want to be better for you, too, Buck.” 

Bucky gives him a sad smile, tilting his head a little. He looks old, now, like he’d seen the worst of the world and had made it out on the other side. Knowing what he does now, Steve supposes that isn’t too far from the truth of things. “Then ain’t that love?” Bucky prompts. “Right?” 

The tension in Steve’s belly dissipates a little. “Guess it is,” He admits quietly. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” Bucky nods. “Alright. Now just relax. I'm not going anywhere without you if I have any say in the matter.” 

Steve does. Bucky lets him have about twenty minutes of pure silence, eyes closed and hot water draining the tension from his muscles and sore body, before he clears his throat. 

“Okay.” Bucky says again, breaking the silence. “Why did you do that?” 

Steve pauses, peeking one eye open to peer at Bucky. “What?”

“The fight. Why did you do that?” Bucky’s hand falls away from his cheek. 

He looks down into the water. The heat from the bath as well as the epsom salts were sucking away the aches from his muscles and bones, but the ghosts of them lingered. It was a half-there, half-gone sort of feeling, and it sat uncomfortably in his body. 

It was still better than feeling numb. 

He decides it's best not to lie; Bucky would just see right through it anyways. “Because I knew it would feel good.” 

“It’s been a while since I can remember the sensation,” Bucky mutters bitterly, “But I’m pretty sure getting beaten up doesn’t feel good.” 

“It feels like _ something,” _Steve corrects, trying to explain it. He watches the steam rolling off the top of the water, sinking down a little further. “Ends the numbness.”

Bucky watches him with a sad, contemplative look on his face. He puts his chin on the edge of the bathtub and turns the full force of his pale eyes to Steve. 

“You’re hurt.” 

“Surface wounds,” Steve shrugs, and the water moves around him. “I knew what I was getting into.” 

Bucky reaches a finger up, and traces his cool hand along Steve’s jaw again. It feels nice, but it’s only a whisper of what Steve wants, a tease. 

He wants to feel Bucky pressed against him until it hurts. 

“I don’t mean the bruises,” Bucky murmurs carefully. 

Steve understands, but the topic is heavy and he’s exhausted. His body ached from the fight, from lack of sleep, from the cold he was still getting over. It was a lot. It was too much.

He presses his lips together and sinks lower in the water, until it reaches just under his nose. If his mouth was under water, he didn’t have to speak. 

He stares straight ahead at the other end of the tub for a long time, thinking about everything and nothing all at once, trying to ignore the weight of Bucky’s gaze on him. 

“Steve.” Bucky prompts flatly. Steve knows he deserves an answer. 

Steve resurfaces after a moment, hugging his legs close to his chest. “I’m scared,” he whispers to the water. He wants to cry, but no tears come. His eyes are dry, too exhausted from the events of the day. “I’m terrified.”

“Of me?”

“For you,” Steve tells him softly. “For us.” He opens his mouth, then shuts it again. “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose my friends.” He shrugs helplessly, the water shifting as he does so, lapping at his body. “I don’t know if I can have both.”

He didn’t want to lose this, specifically: Bucky’s laughter, his rolling eyes or crooked smile. Steve didn’t want to lose _ angel, _ or _ doll, _ or _ Ace, _ or _ kitten, _ or _ sweetheart… _ he didn’t want to lose the lingering glances, the honey-drip voice, Bucky’s hysterical laughter or the feeling of being, really being, in his arms _ , _ he didn’t want to lose the magic of hearing Bucky say _ I love you _—

He didn’t want to loose Sam’s gap-tooth smile or Clint's sharp witted remarks. He didn’t want to lose Natasha’s rare smiles, her even rarer embraces. He was greedy. He wanted it all. 

“I’m just scared,” Steve repeats, to stop his own spiraling train of thoughts. “There is a lot on the line.”

Bucky nods slowly, not taking his eyes off of Steve. “I know.”

That’s all that can be said, really. It sits between them, heavy and pressing, until the silence crushes him. Bucky is not one to lie. He won’t offer Steve false comfort.

“Do you think we’ll make it out okay?” Steve whispers, desperate for reassurance. He knows Bucky will be truthful. “Do you think...we get our happy ending?” 

Bucky’s jaw is wound tight, and for a fleeting moment, Steve is terrified Bucky is going to say no. 

“You’re pruning up,” Bucky tells him, pointing to Steve’s fingers. Had he been in the tub for that long already? It had felt like only seconds. “You should get dried off and get some rest. You need it.” 

Steve notices that Bucky doesn’t answer his question, but he won’t ask it again; he figures he doesn’t want to know the answer anyway. His silence is reply enough.

Bucky flutters his fingers and hangs a towel around Steve’s shoulders as Steve gets shakily to his feet, watching him dutifully. Steve hugs the towel closer, and feels stupid and childish for the stunt he pulled. His body was pulsing with the dull ache that a fight always brought, but the hurt in Bucky’s eyes was a much worse punishment. 

Steve feels guilty right to his very core. 

“I hope you stay tonight,” Steve says gently drying off. It’s not fair of him to say, really. He knows Bucky has no control over when Hydra takes him out of cryo, but Steve is afraid that he’ll fall apart if Bucky leaves. He isn’t strong enough to be alone right now, he will crumble. 

“I’ll try, Ace,” Bucky tells him, and offers a small smile, but it’s sad and distant. Steve wishes it wouldn’t be. “Don’t wanna leave you lookin’ like this.” 

“I’m sorry.” Steve says finally, looking up at Bucky with earnest eyes. “I know...it wasn’t right of me, to do that. To get in that fight. Especially when I knew you were watching. I. I didn’t do it for the right reasons. I did it for me, not for that girl.” 

“It was hard,” Bucky admitted softly, “To see you getting hurt like that, and knowing that I was stuck in the house, not able to do anything about it. I could just watch them hurt you, and--and it wasn’t a _ fight, _Steve. I mean, you hit the guy once and then you didn’t raise a hand to protect yourself after that.” 

Steve knew he was right. Thinking back to the moment now, he’s not sure what exactly was going through his mind. He only remembers wanting desperately to feel _ something, _ so when the opportunity arose to feel _ that, _he took it. 

“I’m real sorry, Buck,” He said again. He means it. “I’m just so scared.” 

“Seeing you do something so stupid--that scared _ me. _” Bucky wasn’t going to drop it, Steve could tell by the resolve in his voice. Steve pulls the towel up to his chin. 

“I won’t do it again.” 

Bucky looks at Steve like he doesn’t really believe that to be true, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

“If this works,” Bucky murmurs. “Then I’ll--me, Bucky--I’ll be gone from the apartment, while your friends try to get me away from Hydra. Presumably, Hydra isn’t going to have their most valuable asset asleep in cryo while they’re being pursued by the Avengers.” 

“Yeah,” Steve mutters. He had already thought about that, about the long days and long nights waiting for news--any news--from his friends, lonely without them or Bucky. He wasn’t looking forward to it. “I know.”

“It may take a long time.” 

“I know,” Steve repeats. It stung every time he thought about it, so he tried not to, but he knew the harsh reality would set it soon. 

Bucky looks annoyed by Steve’s easily agreement. “Are you going to be okay alone in that time? Are you going to take care of yourself? Eat three meals a day and dress properly for the weather and remember to turn the stove off or--”

“Buck,” Steve cuts him off rather sharply. His blue eyes focus on Bucky’s with a levelling look. “This ain’t about me, okay?”

“For me, it is.” Bucky makes a motion with his hand and the towel wraps tighter around Steve’s body. It feels almost like a hug. Steve folds into it, pretending it really was Bucky’s arms around him. He closes his eyes and can almost feel them, the weight of them, the security. The peace. “For me, it’s always about you.” 

“I’m a big boy,” Steve tells him stubbornly. “I can take care of myself while you’re gone.” If not for himself, Steve would do it for Bucky, so that when he comes home, Steve could proudly say he’d learned new recipes or hadn’t gotten a cold in months, and Bucky would give him that goofy smile and tease him about it and they’d laugh under the bright New York sky. 

“I don’t think I’d be okay, if something happened to you.” Bucky suddenly admits, the words spilling from his lips like they rise without his consent. “And that is. Terrifying.” 

Steve blinks, drinking in the weight of that confession. “Me, too.” he admits to Bucky. “I...I know I wouldn’t be okay.” That was perhaps the understatement of the century. 

They watch each other, both wide eyed, realizing the connotations of what they’d said. “S’alittle unhealthy,” Bucky grins without delight. “Ain’t it?” 

“Maybe. Probably.” 

“Glad we’re on the same page.” 

Steve’s chest constricts, and he offers Bucky a small smile, opening his eyes again to find Bucky’s trained on him with a soft look. “Stay tonight,” He begs, although he knows it isn’t in Bucky’s control. “Sing me to sleep.” 

“If you think you can just bat your baby blues at me and get whatever you want--”

Steve flutters his eyelashes playfully. His smile turns into a smirk. The tension dissipates, and it’s easy between them once again, like breathing. 

“--then you’d be absolutely right.” Bucky sighs in resolve, and starts leading them out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. “C’mon, lets go. Any requests? I’ll do anything except T-Pain. And no Michael Jackson.”

They giggle deep into the night, and Steve feels a little more alive than he did before.

***

Steve dreams that night of cold hands with Bucky’s voice and face, and pale eyes that don’t recognize him. 

A metal arm reaches for his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapters song is "One Thousand Times" by James Vincent McMorrow. I've got a playlist on spotify for this fic-would anyone be interested in the link? 
> 
> Also, as always, comments & kudos are much appreciated :) your support means everything to me and the comments that have been coming in are so so kind and wonderful, they make my day every time! I'm so excited to show you guys what comes next in this fic, so stay tuned!!! 
> 
> Hope everyone is having a lovely day <3


	11. hold me while you wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thus commences "Operation Unthaw". It's a working title.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end of chapter notes for translations!

_"I'm waitin' up, savin' all my precious time_   
_Losin' light, I'm missin' my same old us_   
_Before we learned our truth too late_   
_Resigned to fate, fadin' away_   
_So tell me, can you turn around?_   
_I need someone to tear me down_   
_Oh, tell me, can you turn around?_   
_But either way_

_Hold me while you wait_   
_I wish that I was good enough (hold me while you wait)_   
_If only I could wake you up (hold me while you wait)_   
_My love, my love, my love, my love_   
_Won't you stay a while? (Hold me while you wait)_

_Tell me more, tell me something I don't know_   
_Could we come close to havin' it all?"_

_ \- Lewis Capaldi, "Hold me while you wait"_

* * *

Steve is true to his word. He wakes up before the sun and showers quickly, not allowing his thoughts to wander somewhere dark or scary. He’d been plagued with nightmares for most of the night, and he had barely slept, tossing and turning, but he was determined to think happier thoughts and start the day off right. 

He gets to work on making his Ma’s cinnamon buns, just like he promised Sam he’d do. It was a small feat, after all, compared to what Sam was taking on for him. He was risking everything.

Bucky watches from the small dining room table with interest, but they don’t speak. It’s a comfortable silence, through, not a tense one, and Steve is grateful for that. Bucky tracks his movements carefully, like he’s half afraid Steve is going to spontaneously combust. 

Perhaps seeing Steve so fragile yesterday had worried Bucky; he was quite the mother hen.

Steve brushes his hands off on his apron, and appraises his work, all of the dough risen to a satisfactory height and loads of cinnamon tucked into the folds of the pastry, just like his Ma used to make. 

If she were here, Steve would tell her everything. She would have absolutely _ adored _Bucky; she had a tendency to love anyone that really loved Steve, and with Bucky’s charm and sparkling smile, Steve knew that if he ever got the chance, Bucky would have his Ma’s approval in seconds. 

The thought warms his heart as he sprinkles a little more cinnamon on top of the buns and waits for the oven to preheat.

“My Ma would have loved you, y’know,” Steve announces suddenly, feeling the urge to tell Bucky what was on his mind. “She would--she’d probably mess up your hair and pinch your cheeks and,” Steve smiles fondly at the ground, not looking at Bucky. “She’d have just adored you, Buck.” 

Bucky is quiet, and doesn’t answer for a long time, prompting Steve to turn around, afraid he’d said something to upset Bucky. 

When they lock eyes, Bucky looks quickly away, and shifts in his seat, clearing his throat. 

“My mom,” Bucky says slowly. “She’d have loved you too, if things were different. If,” Bucky’s brow furrows as he searches for the words. “If times were like they are now, and two fellas bein’ together wasn’t a jail sentence, then,” he looks back up at Steve with a hesitant smile. “She’d have loved you too, Ace. The fire in you, it’s just like her. She never took shit from anyone, even my Pa. Standin’ up to a drunk husband ain’t easy, but she did it.” 

Bucky never really spoke about his family, and Steve assumed it was mostly because he didn’t remember a whole lot about them, but the sudden insight into Bucky’s life before the war makes Steve’s heart melt into a puddle. Gaining the fictional and theoretical approval of Bucky’s long dead mother makes Steve feel oddly validated.

“She sounds like a strong woman.” 

Bucky nods slowly, like he’s remembering more about her that can confirm Steve’s words. “She was. And my little sister, Becca…” he squinted around the room, like he was searching for the memories in the dust particles that danced around the space. “She was fiery, too. Had a real attitude, but she was a softie on the inside, y’know? A real cry baby.” 

“Nothin’ wrong with being a cry baby,” Steve mutters defensively, and Bucky glances up, giving him a playful wink. Steve grins back, and feels lighter for it.

Maybe things would be okay after all. They’d had a good night, joking and laughing for a couple hours before Steve finally fell asleep, curled up tight in the shell of Bucky’s not-there arms, finally rid of the strange tension that had been building between them. And now, in the kitchen, things felt easy again. Right.

Steve's nightmare had been horrible, and vivid--but that was gone now, and he wasn't eager to remember it. Bucky was here, and he was himself, for now--that's all that mattered.

When Steve turns back to slide the tray of treats into the oven, a comfortable silence settles around them again. He closes the oven door, and takes off his apron, hanging it up on the wall beside the fridge. Almost immediately, the apartment began to be filled with the sweet scent of cinnamon, warm and safe. 

When Steve turns back to Bucky, he finds the man staring at his hands with a troubled look on his face. 

“Buck?” Steve prompts quietly, not sure what had soured the mood that had just been so sweet. “What’s up?” 

Bucky hesitates before answering, but then murmurs, “You didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Yeah,” Steve admits softly. It had been a restless night. “Too much on my mind, I guess.” 

Bucky doesn’t look satisfied with that answer, adjusting a little in his chair like he’s uncomfortable. “No, you. You...cried.”

Steve’s heart skips uneasily. 

He didn’t remember waking up with tears in his eyes, but last night was such a mixture of terror and restlessness, he couldn’t remember what was real and what was a dream. 

Bucky looks devastated. He didn’t sleep in this form, Steve knew, but he almost looks as though he’d had a restless night himself, bags under his eyes and hair more mussed than usual, his waves falling into his eyes and sticking up in all sorts of ways. 

“I--What?” Steve says dumbly. He’s not sure what else to say, he’s stalling for time. 

“In your sleep. You cried,” Bucky repeats, his features tight. His hands flex and unfurl in his lap as he speaks. “You were...._ heartbroken _, Steve. Sobbing so hard you were breathing like you were ‘bout to have a damn asthma attack. Scared the shit out of me."

Steve's mouth goes dry.

"What were you dreaming of?” 

Ah. That must have been why his inhaler was on the night table last night, which wasn’t the last place he left it. Bucky must have retrieved it in the fear that Steve would work himself into an attack.

Steve’s mind flashes to his memories of the nightmares without his consent. 

Bucky’s eyes, dead and flat, the picture of the Winter Soldier Natasha had shown him, the metal arm reaching for his thin neck, unforgiving fists, Bucky’s voice telling him he was nothing, he meant nothing, that his friends were dead and it was all Steve’s fault. 

He swallows. He couldn’t bear to tell Bucky that he’d been plagued all night with nightmares about facing the Winter Soldier, Bucky was dealing with more than enough.

“I don’t remember,” He lies quietly.

Bucky tilts his head, giving Steve his best _ Don’t Bullshit Me Right Now Punk _ face. There is something daring in his voice when he says: “You’re a terrible liar, Ace.”

Steve turns away, bristling. He doesn’t have any right to feel angry, he knew that Bucky was just trying to investigate what was bugging Steve so much it kept him tossing and turning all night. “Does it matter? It was just a dream. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“You were saying my name,” Bucky prompts, clearly not about to let this go. “Please? I want to know. It was horrible, seein’ you like that. You wouldn’t wake up. I just want to know what had you so worked up.”

Steve stares at the ground. He’s wearing his bunny slippers, but the joy they used to bring him seems lost, and they leave him feeling childish. He wiggles his toes and the bunny heads bob. It’s not as entertaining as it usually is. He stares at them, because it’s easier than looking at Bucky. 

Bucky is stubborn as hell and Steve knows he doesn’t plan on dropping the subject until he gets a straight answer. 

Finally, Steve succumbs. “I dreamt about the Winter Soldier.”

“Me,” Bucky corrects. He’d been pretty particular about making sure, Steve figured, that Steve knew the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes were the same person. 

That idea was hard to rectify. In the files Steve read, and in the videos of the Soldier he’d seen in Natasha’s apartment, that man was nothing like Bucky. He moved in different ways and had hard, cold eyes. A metal arm, tight lips, long hair and a walk that was intimidating all on its own. Nothing about that man reminded Steve of the man he loved.

“I dreamt about you, as the Winter Soldier.” Steve corrects, folding his arms over his chest. He felt an argument coming on and braced himself for it. “Let’s leave it at that.” 

Bucky’s jaw clenches. “It wasn’t a good dream.” It’s not a question.

“Evidently.” Steve says curtly. 

He turns back to the counter to wipe off some of the crumbs, brushing them into his palm and emptying them into the garbage can. 

It’s easier to have a conversation like this without looking at Bucky. The apartment is still relatively dark, the sun wasn’t awake just yet, and the city was quiet around them. If not for Steve’s roaring thoughts and the fear brewing between them, it might have been a peaceful start to the day.

“Are you afraid of me?” Bucky asks suddenly. Steve could feel his eyes boring into Steve’s back. “Be honest.” 

Steve considered the question and gave it the amount of thought it deserved. The man sitting in his kitchen wasn’t threatening at all; Bucky had never done anything but protect him, Steve never felt unsafe with Bucky and he trusted the man implicitly. 

But, if he and the Winter Soldier were the same--and, Steve knew, they were the same man--then yes, Steve was afraid. 

The Soldier made his friends afraid, his friends who had faced the baddest of the bad. He was big, and strong, and he was highly trained. He was afraid that he would get face-to-face with the Soldier and be met with indifference. 

He was fucking terrified that all of this would be for nothing, and that he’d be putting everything at risk just to lose Bucky all over again. 

Steve used to think that he has a strong heart, that he could take a lot of tragedy and turn it around into goodness. 

But he’s pretty sure, if he loses this bet, he will break. It will be the end of everything good in his life, and Steve will shatter into a thousand, irreparable pieces. 

He turns around to face Bucky, arms folded over his chest. Part of him _ was _ afraid of the highly trained Soviet assassin that killed without flinching, but....in his mind, that man wasn’t Bucky. 

That was the weapon Hydra had made, and the two things weren’t the same to Steve yet. The Winter Soldier just seemed like a myth, a legend. Something that was meant to strike fear but wasn’t any real threat.

“I’m afraid of losing you,” Steve says honestly. He’s proud of the way he voice doesn’t shake. 

Bucky stands up abruptly. “Steve,” He growls, a dangerous edge in his tone that Steve had only heard when it was directed at Junky. His eyes are dark as he stalks closer. His dog tags catch in the lighting of the kitchen, sparkling slightly. “I could snap your neck without breaking a sweat if I had a body in _ this _ form, and as the Winter Soldier I’m enhanced. I can _ lift cars _ , Steve. Punch through walls. Killing you would be thoughtless. It would be difficult _ not _to.” 

“Stop,” Steve hisses.

Bucky stares at him with hard, unrelenting eyes. “I could snap your spine in half _ accidentally--” _

Steve lifts his chin stubbornly, uncrossing his arms and letting them fall limply by his sides, leaving his chest and neck open and exposed, showing that he wasn’t afraid. “If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not going to work.”

“I ain’t tryin’ to scare you,” Bucky hisses, just inches away from Steve now, bearing down over him with his bulk and height, his features bleak. “I’m trying to prove to you that you’re _ already _scared. You’re just denyin’ it.” 

Steve blinks up at Bucky and is about to say more when there’s a knock on the door. 

“It’s me,” Sam calls, knocking again. Steve shoots Bucky a look of _ we’ll finish this later _ as he goes to answer the door. Sam is still mumbling: “Your skinny ass _ best _be outta bed and gettin’ on those cinnamon buns or I--”

Steve swings the door open with a small smile thats only a little forced. He’s relieved to see Sam, it meant they could get things started, and get closer to getting Bucky back in his body. “Mornin’.” 

Sam blanches, immediately suspicious. He looks good, even if he always looks good, it’s still enough to be noticeable, with slim fit jeans and a light blue button up. He smelled fresh, and Steve was hopeful that it meant Sam had had a restful night and a hot shower to start the day.

“What the _ hell _happened to you?” 

Steve suddenly remembers he’s got a black eye and split lip, fresh from last night. His smile falters, and he touches his fast absently. He obviously did not look as good as Sam, in his bunny slippers and oversized t shirt. In fact, Steve felt pretty confident he was a hot fucking mess, without the hot part. A lukewarm mess. Room temperature, even. “Uh…” 

“You didn’t get jumped after coffee, did you? Shit, I knew I should’ve walked you home--”

“No,” Steve reassures him quickly, shaking his head before Sam was even finished. “I started it, as per usual. My fault, you know how it goes. Doesn’t matter--I don’t even feel it anymore. ‘Sides, you should see the other guy.” 

Sam gives him a dubious once over but then grumbles something under his breath and slides past him, into the apartment. He’s seen this song and dance enough times from Steve that he didn’t need to ask any more questions, but he was definitely not happy. Well, too bad. He could get in line. The list of Steve people had pissed off today was already starting, and the sun wasn’t even up.

“I should send you to boarding school,” Sam is grumbling under his breath as he follows Steve inside. “Teach you a lesson.” 

Steve snorts. “I know you refuse to believe this, but I am actually a grown man and you are not, in fact, my legal guardian or parent.” 

Sam scoffs at him, mock-offended. “Hurtful and untrue.” 

Sam could use every line in the book, Steve still didn’t think his level of hovering could live up to Bucky’s. In the short time he and Bucky had shared a space, Steve was pretty sure Bucky spent over half of it worrying about what kind of random shit could go wrong and kill/hurt/infect Steve at any given moment. The guy had _no_ chill, and worrying about Steve was his favourite past time. 

“Smells really good in here,” Sam notes, as they come into the kitchen. “Homey.” 

“You’re just lucky I love you,” Steve mutters, rolling his eyes fondly, though he really didn’t mind. It was nice to bake and have someone appreciate it. It helped keep his Mother’s memory alive; baking was always something they did together. 

Bucky moves from the dining room table to the kitchen counter, staying out of the way, perched up on the counter with his ankles crossed. He watches Sam curiously. 

His face is still displeased, evidence of their argument written in his features, but he’s silent, probably not wanting to distract Steve with having Sam talking in one ear and Bucky in the other.

Sam shivers as he passes, obviously feeling the difference in temperature. He’s smart, though, and nods, quickly understanding what it means. “Barnes is here?”

“Sure is,” Steve replies softly. Bucky nods once, an acknowledgement, but of course, he and Sam can’t communicate without Steve as the go-between. 

“Tell him I say thanks for helping.” Bucky prompts tensely, not looking at Steve. He hesitates, then adds: “Please.”

Steve rolls his eyes and wants to flick Bucky’s ear and tell him to get over himself, but he tells Sam _ thank you for helping, from Bucky _. 

Sam arches a brow, and glances suspiciously around the room. “I ain’t doing this for you, pal.” Sam tells the air. “But you’re welcome. Just don’t kill me, yeah?” 

Steve purses his lips, but he already knew that. Sam was doing this for Steve, because he was a good friend--the best, really--and he knew right from wrong. Walking away from this was Wrong, and although Sam didn’t know Bucky from Adam, at the end of the day Bucky was a war vet who got taken advantage of. 

Sam knew a lot about that, and Steve was pretty sure that if his other friends looked hard enough, they’d find more of themselves in Bucky. 

A good soldier, like Sam. Controlled against his will like Clint. Trained to kill by Hydra like Nat. 

What Bucky had done as the Winter Soldier _ was _terrible, Steve wasn’t stupid enough to pretend it wasn’t. But regardless of that evil, Bucky was the victim of a terrible Nazi organization who took what they wanted and didn’t care about who they hurt. 

Steve would like to think that he’s a good judge of character, and he felt confident in advocating for Bucky. Even if he hadn’t gone and fallen in love with Bucky, Steve would like to think that he’d be making the same choices, pushing still for Bucky to be rescued. 

Bucky had a gorgeous soul. Steve would do whatever he could to protect that, to bring him home. 

“No promises.” Bucky’s lips twitch. It’s almost a smile, but his eyes are clouded, worried. He and Steve hadn’t gotten to finish their conversation earlier, and Steve could feel it weighing on Bucky’s mind. 

Steve’s nightmare must’ve looked worse than he thought, and he imagined it was just feeding into the guilt and self-loathing Bucky was already feeling over the revelation of realizing he was the Winter Soldier. 

Bucky hadn’t talked about it much, but Steve was pretty sure that all of Bucky’s memories of things he’d done as the Winter Soldier were slowly coming back. He seemed more on edge the past few days than he ever had before. He had a stiffer way of moving, almost. 

It was hard to say exactly, if it was just the information in the files or Bucky’s two consciousnesses coming to merge together, but there had definitely been a shift in Bucky. Something had changed.

“Okay,” Steve says, taking a seat at the table. Bucky folds arms across his chest, his face unreadable. “So now what?”

“If Bucky is here, that means the Soldier is in cryo.” Sam says, to state the obvious. 

Steve nods, he knew that much. “Is that good or bad for us?” 

Sam leans back in his chair, and the floor creaks at the shift in weight. “Well,” He says consideringly, lips pursed. “It could work in our favour, I guess. It’d be a lot easier to kidnap the Soldier if he was, uh, frozen. Then we’d only have to worry about other Hydra operatives trying to kill us, not Bucky himself.” 

“Steve,” Bucky says politely, a perfect gentlemen’s interruption. “Please tell your friend that for the record, I do not _ want _to kill him.” 

“I think he knows--”

“Tell him,” Bucky repeats softly. “Please.” 

Sam watches Steve’s face with curiosity, wondering what Bucky had said. He waits. 

Steve clears his throat, adjusting in his seat a little uncomfortably. It wasn’t a topic he wanted to think about, but Bucky couldn’t communicate without him, and it wasn’t really Steve’s place to sensor him. 

“Bucky would like to state that for the record, he doesn’t want to kill you.” 

Sam chuckles a little, shaking his head. “Man, I kinda like this guy. But you should know, _ Bucky, _ that if you do kill me, or hurt Steve, _ I _ will be the ghost coming back ‘round to haunt the shit out of you. And not in the wussy make-you-coffee-in-secret kinda way that you’ve been up to,” Sam scoffs. “I will straight up _ paranormal activity _your ass into the next century.” 

Bucky is hiding a smile. It’s a different smile than the one he saves for Steve; this smile is daring, like he can’t wait to play pranks on Sam or just generally annoy the shit out of him for fun, like the kind of smile an older brother sends across the room to the younger sibling before they do something mom and dad would definitely not approve of. It’s...oddly touching. 

Steve wonders, for a moment, that if they got Bucky back, would he get along with his friends? Steve’s heart flutters hopefully at the idea of sitting around an old Christmas movie, with wine and burgers, all of his friends and Bucky laughing together, Steve curled up safely under Bucky’s arm. 

It seemed like too much of a dream to ever come true; there was so much pain to come from now until then, if such a peaceful future even exists for them it is far, far away. Still, though, the image persisted.

“Steve?” Sam prompts again, like he’d said something and had been expecting an answer. 

Steve blinks. “Huh?” He hadn’t been paying attention, he hadn’t even realized Sam had spoken. 

“I _ said,” _Sam repeats slowly, “that I think we’re going to get Clint on our side.” 

This was good news. Steve’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “You talked to him last night?” There was no way Sam got any sleep last night. “After we met?”

Sam tells him that Clint was over all night, and they hashed out the details. Clint had a lot of sympathy for Bucky, and believed that he was the good guy, the victim in the situation, not the criminal. “He doesn’t know that I’ve already told you I’m gonna help,” Sam says gently. “But I think, in maybe a few days...we could get him. He’s being reasonable about the whole thing, unlike Nat, who hasn’t been answering any of my calls.” 

Not even ten minutes later, there is a knock on the door. Steve wasn’t expecting anyone, and Bucky knew it. He gets to his feet quickly, already charging the door and telling Steve, “Just stay here, let me see who it is.” 

Bucky had been pretty finicky about all of the exit and entry points in the apartment ever since Junky. Steve supposed he felt guilty about the incident, for whatever delusional reason Bucky had worked up in his own head.

Steve stands, about to chase after him, also curious as to who it could be at this hour, so early in the morning, when he hears a voice bellowing loudly, clearly uncaring for any other tenants in Steve’s building. 

“Steve!” The voice calls. “It’s me--I’ve gotta talk to you.” 

Sam and Steve share a hopeful look, and Steve nearly runs to the door, throwing it open. Bucky, looking relieved and a little deflated, sinks back into the kitchen, tension fading from his shoulders.

“I can’t believe you’re awake this early!” Steve exclaims, his chest fluttering with hope. Clint gives him a devilish smile. He looks a little more scrambled than Sam, wearing sweats and a long sleeve workout shirt, his hair disheveled, but he was practically vibrating with energy. 

“I’m in.” Clint tells him, pushing past Steve into the apartment, confirming what Steve desperately hoped to be true. “I’m in, you crazy little shit. Let’s fuckin’ do this.” 

When Clint gets into the kitchen and sees Sam sitting there with a smug smile on his face, Clint yells some kind of profanity. “What are _ you _doing here!” 

“I’m getting me some good Karma, baby,” Sam purrs. Clint grumbles something else that sounds accusatory and pretty ungentlemanly. 

“Looks like I’m late to the party,” Clint mutters. “You here to kidnap a highly trained assassin and bring him back to HQ, so we can get his head unfucked in the hopes that he can maybe, just maybe, be boyfriend of the year to the one and only Steve Rogers?” Clint bats his eyelashes. 

Sam’s mouth twists into a wry smile. “Hell yeah,” he agrees, offering Clint a fist to bump. “Operation Unthaw is now officially underway.” 

Clint snorts, but returns the bump. “I’ve been bamboozled. Here I was thinking I was the only rebel in the group, here to take on a dangerous--yet nobel--solo mission.” Clint grumbles softly, but he takes a seat at the table. He’s got something tucked under his arm: a laptop. He pulls it out and opens it up on the table. “Alright. Operation Unthaw it is. Not my favorite name, but it can be a working title.” 

“Thank you,” Steve says sincerely, toes curling with hope, looking from Sam to Clint eagerly. “I know...this is risking a lot for you guys. I know I’ve asked a lot--”

“We’re not getting sappy before 7:00AM,” Clint mutters, waving a hand. Steve seals his mouth together, but Clint winks at him. “Besides. You were right. It’s the right thing to do.” 

“And...Natasha?” He asked softly, afraid to ask mostly because he already knew the answer.

Clint swallows and shifts in his seat, looking away. “No. Sorry, dude. She’s going to be doing her damndest to stop us.” 

_ Dammit. _Steve had feared that. 

Natasha was good; they didn’t need her working against them. That would put them at a significant disadvantage, not to mention throw a wrench in their friendship, which is the last thing Steve wanted. 

“We’ve got a small team, but it’s a team,” Steve whispers happily to Bucky, but Bucky is looking far away, his face screwed up in pain.

He doesn’t register Steve’s words.

His brow is tense and his hands are clenched into white-knuckled fists. Steve stomach knots with dread. He knows what this is.

“Buck?” Steve prompts, worried. He takes a few steps closer to him, hands hovering uselessly by his sides. “You okay?” 

Bucky shakes his head, but his eyes can’t focus, they dart from place to place, panicking. The pit of dread in Steve’s belly grows with the knowledge of what is happening. _ No, not now. _

Bucky’s eyes are wide and blinking fast. “N-No, they’re. They’re going to take me, Steve. Soon. I can feel it.” 

Steve’s heart drops to his toes. Saying it out loud made it all too real. “No,” He says softly, reaching out for him. “No, Buck, please--”

“Steve?” Sam prompts, interrupting. “What’s happening?” 

“I’m--I can see. Listen closely,” Bucky groans, his eyes screwing shut before opening again. They go wide as saucers, looking around everywhere but remaining glassy. He’s not looking at Steve’s kitchen, but somewhere else, where his body is being pulled from cryo.

Steve’s heart thumps loudly in his ears as he stands stiffly, waiting to absorb every detail of Bucky’s words, anything that might help them get Bucky back. His stomach rolls miserably, the dread of what he knows comes next filling up from head to toe.

“Concrete everywhere,” Bucky reports quickly. “Cold. It’s really cold--some traffic outside, so not too far from civilization. New York accent in the background, speaking English. Saying…” Bucky squints. “Something about the Avengers. Looks like an abandoned warehouse. Train horn--tracks must be nearby.” 

Steve catalogues every detail to relay to his friends, but he also drinks in Bucky’s face, his hands, his hair--everything about him that he wasn’t sure would be the same when their paths crossed again. He didn’t want to forget. He couldn’t let himself forget. 

Most likely, Bucky wasn’t going to know him when they saw each other again. 

Steve would have to remember enough for the both of them.

“I’m going to miss you, Buck,” Steve sniffles, biting his lip to stop it from trembling. He didn’t want to cry, he wanted desperately to be strong and stoic and unafraid, but the sadness and worry ripped through him so violently he felt like it would tear him apart. “Please be okay. Don’t give up on us.” 

Bucky’s image flickers and then appears again. This time, the floor creaks under him, loudly. Steve’s head floods with hope. _ He was here. _

“Holy _ shit,” _Clint curses, falling out of his seat and right onto his ass with a flailing yelp. “Is that--”

Bucky’s eyes blink furiously, and then they find Steve. “Stevie, c’mere,” Bucky demands urgently. He grabs Steve roughly and pulls him into his chest hard enough to hurt.

Steve could _ feel _him--this was a rare moment, an in-between where Bucky was resisting going, where his spirit materialized just enough for a few, fleeting moments of touch. 

It was _ everything, _it was perfect, it was exactly what Steve needed, what he’s pretty sure he’ll be needing for the rest of his life.

Bucky’s hands were strong and sure as they tugged Steve into him, like it was instinct. It felt so natural, like this is the only way of being they’d ever known, intertwined like this. Lovers. 

_ That’s right, doll. We’re in love. _

Bucky’s arms twist around him, ripcord strong and tight, as though gripping Steve this fiercely could protect him, them, from this mess. As if it could keep Bucky here forever, this way. Solid. 

He rests his chin on Steve’s head, and Steve feels completely enveloped by him in the best way possible, his earthy scent flooding his nostrils. 

He breathes deeply, greedily, fighting back the tears. Even as he basked in the contact, he knew how fleeting it was. Any second now, this could end, and Steve’s arms would be empty, maybe forever. 

“S’okay, kitten, I got ya.” Bucky soothes, his honey and sandpaper voice low in Steve’s ear, his words only for Steve and no one else. Steve felt _ safe. _“We’re gonna be okay. It’s going to be alright.” The words, when coming from Bucky, and with Bucky’s arms around him, Bucky’s heartbeat in his ear--they were easy enough to believe. 

Bucky painted a reality around them with just a few hushes, a reality of safety and security and love, and Steve was falling gratefully into it. Of _ course _everything was going to be okay. Bucky was here, Bucky would fight for them, protect them. 

Steve never thought it was possible to feel love radiating off of someone before, but now, here, he did. He felt it coming off of Bucky in heavy, rolling waves, a physical sensation that filled the room around them so loudly he wondered if Sam and Clint felt it, too. Steve felt like it was pounding against the wall, the windows, rushing in his ears louder than his blood. “_Bucky,” _Steve chokes. “Stay--”

Bucky interrupts him before Steve can ask Bucky to promise something that they both know he can’t. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. Don’t cry.” 

Steve lets out a little sob anyway and buries his face in Bucky’s chest. He smells so good, _ feels _so good. Bucky is rubbing his back, is hair, anywhere he can, hands wandering all over Steve, trying to read him like braille, memorize a physical map of his body to reference later. They must look desperate and starving for each other, with hungry eyes and starving hands, every sense at attention in the rare and true presence of the other.

Bucky cups Steve’s face in his calloused hands to force Steve to look at him through his watery eyes. 

“I”m going to be gone for a while, I think,” Bucky whispers quickly. Bucky’s eyes were wet, too, his lashes clumped together with fat tears. Neither of them know how long they’ll have, and Bucky speaks quickly to get the words out before he’s pulled away. He presses his forehead to Steves. “I just--I have a feeling. I’m sorry, doll. I’ll try to make it back to you. I’ll fight for you, in any way I can, Stevie. Okay?” 

Steve’s slender fingers knot in Bucky’s shirt, grabbing fistfuls of it like he could keep him right here in this kitchen by grip alone. “B-Buck,” Steve sniffles. “I won’t g-give up, I _ won’t.” _

“I know, honey,” Bucky whispers, nodding eagerly. “I know you won’t. Hey, can you do something for me?” 

“A-Anything,” Steve promises quickly, nodding his head. God, he’d do anything, if Bucky asked him. It was terrifying, to let another person have that much power over your soul. 

“In the bedroom, above the foot of your bed, there’s a loose ceiling tile. Move it over a little, you’ll find somethin’ in there, something that used to belong to me. I want you to have it.” Bucky instructs quietly, his hands still pressing Steve against the bulk of his body. “Just--be careful when you’re getting it. No repeats of the tipping incident in the kitchen. Okay?” 

“Yeah,” Steve sniffles, not sure what on earth could be up there that had lasted 80 years of people moving in and out of the place. “Okay.” 

“Okay. Good,” Bucky coos, sniffling back his own heartbreak. “One more thing. Try hard, doll, but don’t forget that whatever happens, I love you _ now, _and we have had an amazing few months together. Nothing and no one can take that away from us, and--” 

“Don’t say goodbye,” Steve pleads suddenly, desperately, his hands gripping Bucky hard, hard enough it must hurt. “Don’t, Bucky, please. God--I. I won’t be able to take it.” 

“Fight for us, n’eat your goddamn vegetables--not just potatoes, green ones, too,” Bucky whispers fiercely, shaking Steve by the shoulders a little bit to emphasis his points, but he doesn’t say goodbye, and Steve is glad. “And don’t start any fuckin’ fights. And--and do not_ , _ do _ not _ dare come anywhere near a base, don’t be alone with me, and for the love of God, Steve, _ don’t _ fuckin’ trust the guy with the metal arm.” Bucky whips his head around to glare at Sam and Clint, who watch him with wide eyes. “Don’t let him die, yeah? Or else. I’m not the guy you wanna have an unkept deal with.”

They nod silently, mouths gaping, looking like they're not sure whether to run out of the apartment of pass out right there on the kitchen floor.

“Deal,” Sam rasps out. 

“Just kiss me,” Steve pleads with wet eyes, already stretching up onto his tip toes, “Please, Buck—”

Bucky does. He presses their lips together fiercely, holding Steve’s face in both hands, and Steve sighs into the kiss, not caring that Clint and Sam could see, not caring if the whole world saw. Bucky’s lips are full and soft, but hungry. They’re kissing like this is the last time, and it’s only the first. 

They should have a million kisses left, as many as there were stars, but. Neither of them knew when they would have each other next, or if they ever would again. Bucky’s lips are full and soft, and the pressure of them is exactly as Steve thought it would be, and a hundred times better. 

Bucky pulls back and stumbles away with a startled expression, his lips bitten and red but parted with surprise. “Steve?” He calls, and Steve winces. He wants to cover his ears so he doesn’t have to hear Bucky calling out for him. “S-Stevie? Hey--I love you, okay? I love you!”

He knows what this is; Bucky is in between, heading to another place with Hydra, where they’ll hurt him and maybe make him hurt Steve’s friends. Maybe make him hurt Steve. 

“I love you,” Steve whispers, but he knows Bucky can’t hear him. He won’t say goodbye, either.

The last thing Bucky says before his image vanishes completely is a raw, “Stevie--_ I’m not giving up!” _and then nothing. An unnatural silence settles into Steve's bones, and the bones of the apartment. Steve touches his lips, feeling the promise of Bucky's kiss buzzing there, not knowing if he'd ever get to hold his lover again. 

***

If Sam had a doubt about agreeing to help Steve save the Winter Soldier, the doubts all disappear when he sees Bucky Barnes appear in Steve’s kitchen. It had happened so suddenly. One minute, Steve was conversing with the air, and the next, a full ass man appeared _out of nowhere._

He’d seen the photograph of Bucky during the war, sure, but seeing him like this, and appear out of thin air no less--was startling even to Sam, and Sam had _ seen _some shit, okay? Like, aliens n’stuff. 

But Bucky, in his 40’s army uniform, mussed hair and desperate eyes looked nothing like the Winter Soldier Sam had fought, and yet...everything like him. 

Seeing the way he looked at Steve was surreal. It was unlike anything Sam had ever witnessed before. It was the way a devout man would look at his creator, Sam was pretty sure. He could tell, just in the few minutes of watching them together, how thoroughly Bucky adored Steve. Worshipped him, even. 

And Steve, Sam could tell, felt absolutely the same way. 

They orbited around each other, like magnets, movements hungry and tender and tragic all at once. It made Sam finally understand Steve’s visceral reaction when he found out Bucky was alive. Even though him being alive meant all of this extra trouble and tragedy, it also meant that they could have what Sam witnessed just minutes ago; the intimacy that people take for granted every day, the gift of just being able to _ touch _someone and really feel the pressure of their skin, the warmth and texture and smell of it.

Steve had never been as happy as Sam had seen him in the past few months since moving into the apartment, and seeing Steve and Bucky together, Sam understood. Steve wasn’t exaggerating when he admitted to being in love.

And if that wasn’t the best--the only--reason to risk everything, then Sam didn’t know what was. Seeing the way they interacted made Sam eager to jump in, get to work right away so that he could see his friend happy once more. 

Once Bucky vanishes, Steve crumples in on himself, falling against the nearest wall and sucking his shoulders in tight, wrapping his arms around his small frame. He’s still wearing just one of Sam’s old t shirts and some briefs, with his goddamn bunny slippers, and he looks impossibly small. 

Sam moves first, coming out of the shock faster than Clint, who is still frozen in spot. He gathers Steve up and takes him into his arms, rubbing his back in slow, circular motions. He feels every bump of Steve’s spine.

“I know,” Sam lies into Steve’s hair. He didn’t know, he had never been in love as ravenous as what he’d just seen. He almost didn’t believe it could even _ be _like that, until he witnessed the near-physical connection of Bucky and Steve. “It’ll be okay. We’re going to get him back, Steve. We will.” 

“We will,” Steve echoes, voice thick with tears. He lets Sam hold him, but he doesn’t hug back and Sam doesn’t blame him. 

Clint finally speaks. “Holy shit.” 

Sam shoots him a look of _ get it together, dude, _and Clint blinks fast a few times. “Holy shit,” he repeats eloquently. Sam glares up at the ceiling, like God himself would descend and give him an answer for why he was cursed to reside around such goddamn idiots.

“We’ll get to work right away,” Sam soothes, still giving Clint the evil eye of _ are you going to be helpful or what, _and still holding Steve tightly, afraid if he lets go that Steve will fall apart. “And the sooner we do, the sooner we get Barnes back.” 

“Steve,” Clint says finally, clearing his throat. “We’re going to do everything we can. We’re all in.” Sam doesn’t mind that Clint speaks for him. Although they annoyed each other, they were brothers at the end of the day, and they could practically read each others mind. Sam confirms with a firm nod. 

Steve nods again. “I know” He takes a deep breath, and the oven timer goes off. “Right,” he murmurs, stepping out of Sam’s embrace. With fists, he rubs the tears from his eyes and takes another steadying breath. Sam sees the battle in his eyes, the strength it takes for him to do it, and loves Steve even more for it. “Breakfast, anyone?” 

***

Steve tells them everything Bucky described, the clues of where he might be kept. Sam and Clint make eager notes, nodding enthusiastically. “This is great,” Sam encourages sincerely. “Really great.”

“This could be anywhere in New York,” Clint complains, clearly not sharing the same enthusiasm. “Or New Jersey, or hell, anywhere. Literally, almost anywhere.” 

“Not anywhere,” Sam squints. He pulls out the file he’d been carrying in, and flips through a few pages, before landing on the one he’d been searching for. “We’ve got a list of known and suspected Hydra bases in and around the New York area. Considering we were face to face with the guy not too long ago, it’s safe to assume he’s somewhere nearby. And Barnes said he heard a train horn in the background, meaning it’s close enough to train tracks to hear.” 

Steve’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “How many are there? Bases and safehouses?”

Sam’s finger scans over the list of coordinates slowly, tallying them up. He sits back in the chair with a satisfied grin, matching Clint’s posture. “In the area...thirteen.” 

Clint gets a mischievous look in his eyes. “Thirteen is doable.” 

“It is,” Sam agrees, nodding. Steve can see the gears grinding in his head. “We can check ‘em out and through process of elimination, figure out which ones are close enough to train stations or tracks that Barnes would be hearing the horns, and look for abandoned factory buildings or warehouses. Narrow down the search, and then infiltrate one by one. Eventually, hopefully, we’ll come across the right bad guy.”

“Not a bad guy,” Steve corrects under his breath. Sam sticks his tongue out at him playfully. The mood has shifted from lost and drained to something that resembled hope. There is something beautiful about it, something dangerous. 

Clint is nodding along with Sam’s plan, and Steve squirms eagerly in his seat. This is the part that wouldn’t easy; letting his friends rush into danger while he sits at home, unable to do anything, but it was also the part that would bring Bucky back. 

“We’ll need weapons,” Clint is saying, but it’s more like he’s thinking out loud than really expecting a reply. “Lots of ‘em.” 

“That won’t be a problem.” 

“Stark is going to get suspicious,” Clint winced. “And we don’t want him sniffing too closely around all of this.” 

“So we’ll be careful,” Sam nods. 

Steve is pretty sure that Tony Stark can’t find out because he’s the one who issued the kill-on-site order on Bucky in the first place. Steve has never personally met the guy, but that fact was making him high up on Steve’s “People-I’d-Like-To-Fight-List”. And that list was long, so being at the top was a pretty big deal.

“We’re also going to have Natasha sniffing around us,” Sam mutters, rubbing his brow with his fingers as if to get rid of the tension there. “She’s not going to like this one bit.” 

Clint snorts in agreement. “No, she won’t, but maybe with time she’ll realize that her and Barnes aren’t so different.” 

“She would be a huge help in this. She knows Hydra better than us,” Sam agrees softly. “Maybe with time.” 

“And we’re going to need SHIELD agents as full time security for Steve’s apartment; if Bucky suddenly remembers something about this place and decides to come back, we don’t want Steve facing him alone.” 

“No,” Steve interrupts. “Agents, are you serious? Guys--how am I going to explain that to my neighbours? And how is that going to give off the right impression if Bucky _ does _decide to come back? The whole point of this is to convince him to come home. Station agents outside my doors isn’t going to give off the sign that we trust him or that he’s welcome.” 

“We _ don’t _trust him.” Sam mutters. “And if he gets a hint of memory back, this is the first place he’ll come.”

“Then let him come,” Steve says exasperatedly. “I’m not a child, and you don’t have to protect me like one. I know the risks, and I’m telling you I’m willing to take them. Leave my apartment unguarded; I want it to be the thing that helps Bucky remember who he is. Who _ I _am.” 

Clint looked like he was buying into the idea, but Sam’s face was a mixture of horror, anger, and utter fear. “Steve--” he tries, but Steve cuts him off quickly. 

“_ Sam,” _He says slowly. “Think about it. If we’re trying to get Bucky to trust us, how do we send that signal?” 

“By trusting him,” Clint finishes, and he and Steve share a meaningful glance, both on the same page. “Barnes isn’t going to be expecting it. It will take him off guard. It could work for us.” 

“You’re kidding,” Sam glares at Clint. “You agree with this? He’ll snap Steve’s neck in seconds and-and you want us to just leave him here, _ defenseless?” _

“Sam,” Steve grumbles again, getting annoyed. “I’ll take a panic button. You can hook it up to your Avengers com. I’ll keep it on me at all times, if I get any whiff of something off or I think Bucky is around, I’ll press it.” 

“That is flawed,” Sam argues. “What if you can’t reach it in time, or he takes it, or--”

“I told you. I know the risks.” Steve lifts his chin meets Sam’s eyes with defiance. The two of them face off for a moment, neither want wanting to give in, before Sam looks away with an angry breath. “That’s my decision, and it’s final.” 

“Goddamn you, Rogers. You’re gonna make me go grey before my time.” The words are light, but Steve can see how much the idea of Steve getting hurt on Sam’s watch bugged his best friend, so he reaches out and squeezes Sam’s fingers once, tightly, as a _ thank you for understanding. _“Did you not hear Barnes? He hinted at some scary consequences should anything happen to you.” 

“He’s all bark and no bite,” Steve shrugs. “I ain’t afraid of him.” 

“I _ know _ that,” Sam groans bitterly. “That’s the _ problem.” _

Steve knows he shouldn’t feel this much hope, not when they’d barely started their mission, one that could take weeks or even months. Maybe longer. The Winter Soldier had been nearly untraceable so far in his career--he was dubbed ‘the ghost’ for that reason. They may have more trouble tracking him down now. 

Even with the clues Bucky gave them, it didn’t mean he’d be there. They could have woken him up and sent him on a mission in Africa, in Russia--anywhere, really. They had a long road ahead.

Steve also knew that he should be afraid, if the worry clouding Sam’s eyes was anything to go off of. It was a hint at how dangerous the Winter Soldier was, how ruthless. 

And Steve was afraid, on some level. He was afraid for his friends, the danger they were putting themselves in, how they were turning their backs on their jobs and their entire worlds. He was afraid for Bucky; afraid of what Hydra was doing to him as he sat at his kitchen table, afraid of Bucky not remembering and not coming back. 

Afraid of Bucky remembering and _ still _not coming back.

But he wasn’t afraid for himself. Steve, for some ungodly reason, felt untouchable. Sitting in the living room, thinking about the possibility of having Bucky in his arms for good, without fear of fleeting moments or Nazi organizations or _ anything _at all made Steve’s chest inflate. The Bucky he knew would never hurt him--he didn’t think he had anything to be afraid of. He didn’t know the Winter Soldier, the icy depths of the eyes he had fallen in love with, or anything of what resided in that black heart.

“When do we start?” Steve interrupts them suddenly. 

Sam and Clint share a look, communicating silently. “We’ve got some research to do, but…” He trails off, and moves to stand, stretching out his arms above his head and then letting out a long breath. “Tomorrow we storm the first gates of hell.” 

***

When Sam and Clint finally leave the apartment, it’s nearly midday. Steve doesn’t shower, wanting to keep the smokey smell of Bucky on his skin and hair for as long as he could, and heads straight for his bedroom as soon as they’re gone, climbing up on top of his mattress to reach for the loose ceiling tile Bucky promised awaited him. 

Steve’s mind flashes to Bucky’s warning to not repeat the tilting-stool incident, and it makes him smile. Back then, Steve was only just realizing that he maybe wasn’t alone in his apartment, that _ maybe _there was something else going on. And then Bucky saved his life, not for the last time.

If anyone told Steve that a few months down the road he’d be desperately in love with the ghost, who also turned out to not even be a ghost, but rather a Soviet assassin, Steve never would have believed it. And yet.

Carefully, heading Bucky’s warning, Steve poked around until he felt a tile wiggle and loosen. He stretches onto his tip toes a little more, and reaches around blindly until he finds a wooden box. 

Taking it down carefully, Steve sits cross legged on his bed, gently brushing the dust off of the wooden box, which was intricately craved and looked even older than Bucky was. 

Opening it with slow, precise movements, Steve gasped audibly when he saw what was inside.

Letters, the ink smudged in some places and faded in others, a string of pearls, a grainy black and white photograph of a family that Steve assumed was Bucky’s, if he guessed by the chubby child in the front with Bucky’s eyes, and...Bucky’s dog tags. 

Steve grabs them up in his hand, feeling the cool metal. He’s not sure how they ended up here; maybe they were found later and shipped back to Bucky’s family, to be kept safely in memory of him. Maybe it was a miracle, or magic. Steve didn’t discount that kind of stuff anymore, he knew better.

The letters, they aren’t for Steve’s eyes, and if he wants to invade Bucky’s privacy he’ll do so later, when he becomes more desperate for pieces of him. Right now, the dog tags were more than enough. He slides them over his head and feels the heavy weight of them settle around his neck.

Steve presses a chaste kiss to the worn plates of them, and sends a silent prayer to a God he’s not sure he believes in that Bucky would make it back home alive. 

***

Steve doesn’t see Clint nor Sam for the next few days, but he gets updates periodically through the text group chat they’d made. It wasn’t the most secure form of communication, to be sure, but Sam and Clint had promised that Stark wouldn’t look too deeply into why they were sneaking around, and Natasha will have figured it out by now of her own intuition.

So Steve goes to work, and to the grocery store, and tries to live his life as normally as possible. Clint and Sam said that would be best; if he just pretended things were normal. 

It was easier said than done.

Steve flips through Netflix without really seeing anything on the screen. Work had been uneventful, but a welcome distraction, keeping his mind occupied on present activities rather than lost in circles of speculation. The weather had changed once again from dampness to a dry, terrible kind of cold that meant winter was on it’s way to stay in New York for good. Steve could feel the brittleness of it in his bones. 

Now that he was alone back at the apartment, there were no distractions available. The emptiness of the apartment and his worries about his friends crept in like poisonous gas. It had only been four days since they’d agreed to take on this task, and yet it felt like weeks. Every hour in itself was an eternity. 

As he’s about to put on yet another dumb Hallmark movie, Steve’s phone pings with a message. His hand darts out quickly to snatch it up, heart already racing with hope and worry. 

Clint to “Operation Unthaw”: _ Update. Safe houses 3&4 infiltrated. _

Clint to “Operation Unthaw”: _ Eagle ain’t in the coop. Still looking. Heading to 5&6 tomorrow in the early hours. Things going smoothly so far, met with little resistance. Safe houses are not heavily fortified or protected. Most are empty. _

Steve’s shoulders fell. His friends were okay, but Bucky hadn’t been found. He was afraid that he would keep getting texts like this; that they would go through every base and safehouse in the area and not find him, left with no leads, no ideas, and no hope.

He was terrified that they would never find Bucky. Hydra could, Steve knew, pack Bucky up and ship him wherever--they could send him on a mission to Canada or Europe or anywhere that wasn’t around the New York area, and just like that he’d be lost to Steve, maybe forever. 

He won’t let his disappointment show, though. He knows what Sam and Clint are doing for him are beyond what Steve had any right to ask for. 

Not killing Bucky was one thing, actively hunting him down against orders was another. 

Steve to “Operation Unthaw”: _ You staying safe & being careful? _

Clint to “Operation Unthaw”: _ Always. Have you seen any signs of Barnes? _

Steve to: “Operation Unthaw”:  _ I haven’t used the panic button, have I? No Winter Soldier, no ghost. Just me. _

Steve missed Bucky dearly, and he didn’t think he’d be seeing his handsome soldier anytime soon, not as he was. He had a feeling with all of the safe houses and bases being infiltrated by Sam and Clint that Hydra was going to catch on, and they were going to put the Winter Soldier on the offensive very soon. 

And that would only mean trouble.

Sam to “Operation Unthaw”: _ Right. We’ve gotta go. Hang tight. We’ll be in touch. _

And so that was that. Steve bows his head and takes a deep breath. More waiting.

Steve to “Operation Unthaw”: _ I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with myself. _

Clint to “Operation Unthaw”: _ Keep your door locked, eat your veggies, and hope like hell we find him. _

Steve puts his phone down. 

***

Two more days go by. Then another, and another, and before Steve knows it, it’s been two weeks since Clint and Sam met in his kitchen and agreed to help him bring Bucky home.

Sam and Clint infiltrate four more safe houses in that time and gather more intel on Hydra, but find most buildings empty. A couple of them housed a few Hydra operatives, but they bit down on their cyanide quickly before they could be interrogated for information about the Winter Soldier. He was, after all, Hydra's most prized possession. 

Steve knew there was a lot more going on behind that scenes that Clint nor Sam told him about, but he knew he got the important information, and that they weren’t hiding things to be malicious. They had Steve’s safety in mind--they always did.

Yesterday at one of the safe houses, Clint and Sam ran into Natasha who’d been hunting them down. Steve didn’t get the full rundown of what happened, exactly, but apparently she took off and let them do their thing. 

She also, as far as Steve knew, hadn’t reported Clint and Sam to Stark--another good sign. Steve was beginning to think that Nat may be seeing things from Steve’s point of view. He hoped, at least. 

Steve felt like he had been doing a hell of a lot of that lately. There were only three more safe houses in the area that lined up with Bucky’s description. The last three were in close proximity to each other, and all by railroad tracks. If nothing turned up at those places, Steve feared he would shatter. 

Steve was painting, finishing up a commission of an old Brooklyn coffee house. He knew the location had sentimental value for the client who had commissioned the piece, and Steve had put a lot of love into it, letting himself focus on perfecting the painting and welcoming it as a distraction from his wandering mind. 

It was a place where his client and his wife had first fallen in love, it was where their story began. Steve was a little envious, if he really thought about it. 

For some people, falling in love was as easy as waking up next to someone and kissing their forehead, making breakfast together, running errands while holding their hand. Steve felt deeply bitter about the fact that he and Bucky would never have that ease to their relationship--if they could ever even have one.

When he thinks about Bucky’s hands on him, the intensity of those wide eyes, Steve is sure he’s ruined for anyone else. 

No one could make him feel in a hundred years how Steve felt in those few, precious moments of contact.

He was almost done the piece, just adding a few finishing touches and blending some places that he wanted to be softer, when he heard a window squeaking open, ever so softly, then the hushed sound of it closing. 

His heart skips as panic makes his muscles lock up. _ No. _

If Steve hadn’t been intently listening to the silence for hints of Bucky’s return, he would’ve missed it, but there is no doubting what he heard. Someone was here. 

His skin grows cold, mouth drying up instantly. He listens so hard he can hear the blood rushing in his ears. _ No, no, no. _

Bucky had been gone for two weeks, and Steve was pretty sure that if he came back, he wouldn’t be sneaking in through a window. 

Unless.

Unless it _ was _ Bucky, but not _ his _Bucky. 

The Winter Soldier.

_ Okay, _ Steve says to himself, trying to force the panic out of his system and let the calm in. _ Okay, okay. Think. Think. _

He couldn’t show fear, he couldn’t be afraid. Clint had said that the last thing the Winter Soldier would be expecting his trust. It took a lot of effort, but Steve slowly, _ slowly, _ snuck into his bedroom, closing the door behind himself with a barely audible _ click. _

The bedroom was the best place for this encounter to happen. The window in his bedroom led out to the fire exit, and he could make a quick escape if he needed (and if he got the chance). His panic-button that would alert Sam and Clint of his dire situation sat useless in the kitchen. Sam was right, the system was flawed, and Steve might be about to pay the price.

He hears footsteps getting closer to where his bedroom was, coming slowly down the hall. 

Something stupid in Steve thought maybe, just maybe, the intruder won’t look too hard. 

Maybe he’ll just leave and not explore into the bedroom--but rationally, Steve knew that was a lie. The Winter Soldier didn’t have a reputation of not being thorough, and there was nothing in Steve’s apartment of value to him except for Steve himself. 

If Hydra wanted, they could use Steve in all sorts of sick ways, to trap the Avengers, to torture them. It’s a wonder a situation like this hadn’t occurred before, but Steve had no idea what kind of undercover bookwork his friends did to keep his name as far detached from theirs as possible.

Steve had to force himself not to stand up, not to take a fighting stance. He uncurled his fists with visible effort and inhaled and exhaled deeply. He couldn’t show fear, but it was difficult not to panic.

If the Winter Soldier could hurt Nat, then surely he could snap Steve’s spine as easy as a toothpick if he really wanted to. 

He didn’t stand a chance.

Steve clenches his jaw tight and prayed to whatever higher force their may or may not be, willing himself not to let the panic in. He listened hard.

Whoever was in his apartment wasn’t trying to be quiet anymore, which meant that they either knew their cover was blown, or they thought the apartment was empty. 

Steve prayed it was the latter, and that he’d be left alone. 

Up until now, a small part of Steve had been praying something like this would happen, that Bucky--the Soldier--would come see him, would remember everything and fall apart in Steve’s arms. 

The confident steps of those heavy boots didn’t sound like someone tracking down an old friend, a valued lover. 

They sounded like a dangerous man, with no fear, on his way to finish a job. Steve was painfully aware of his size, his lack of training, and the fact that he was completely unarmed. 

The footsteps get closer and closer, and every muscle in Steve’s body tenses, wound up so tight it hurts. He trembles with the tension and--

His bedroom door is kicked open with a loud _ bang _, making Steve jump nearly half a foot in the air. 

The first thing he sees are heavy black combat boots and black tac gear, and then a mop of brown hair, the silhouette looking huge and hulking in his threshold. 

Before he can force his vision to focus or his mind to properly process what was happening, Steve has a gun pressed to his forehead.

It all happens in a matter of seconds, maybe two or three, leaving Steve reeling. 

The Winter Soldier stares down at him with dark eyes that look everything and nothing like the Bucky who told Steve he was something precious. 

Steve blinks up slowly at him, eyes pulled so wide it hurts. Bucky stares down at him--only, it’s not Bucky, but it _ is, _and. Steve’s head hurts. 

He wasn’t looking at Steve like he was anything precious, or loved. He was looking at Steve like he was a nuisance of a being, a bug under his foot that he had to dirty his shoes to squash. It was strange to see those familiar eyes so menacing. 

He never thought he’d know this feeling, of having the cold nozzle of a gun pressed against skin--skin that felt so vulnerable, now. Stretched thin over bones that would shatter. It would be so easy for the Soldier to end it, right now, splatter Steve’s brains against the walls of the apartment he loved so much. 

Maybe they’d put the Soldier back in cryo. Maybe Bucky would come back to this apartment and Steve’s soul would stick to the walls, and Bucky would peel him off and they could be together, stuck together, for as long as the apartment remained--

“Speak,” the Soldier--Bucky--snaps, pressing the gun into Steve’s head harder. His voice courses through Steve, makes his stomach flip with excitement and fear. It felt like forever since he heard that voice, and it made everything in him shudder with the realization of how _ close _they were to getting what they’d spent the past two weeks reaching for; Bucky. “Now.” 

Steve holds his hands up in the universal sign of surrender, mind racing. Bucky was in those cold eyes, Steve had proof of that. If his Bucky wasn’t in the apartment, then the part of the Winter Soldier that loved Steve, that didn’t want to hurt him, was somewhere in the hulking man that pressed a gun to his head. Just two weeks ago, those tight lips had peppered Steve’s hair and face with kisses. It hurt to think about.

“B-Buck,” He rasps, his throat tight. Fear would be Steve’s biggest enemy in getting Bucky back. He couldn’t be afraid. He had to be every bit as brave as his Bucky thought he was. The Soldier wouldn’t be expecting this; he was used to people running and hiding, or fighting back. If Steve did neither, maybe he would start to think about who Steve is, and maybe--and it was a _ big _maybe--he’d remember some part of Steve. “Please. It’s me.” 

“I don’t know you.” Bucky’s voice sounds the same, just harder, a little colder, but with the same honey-sweetness that had always made Steve’s knees weak. 

Of course, Bucky before had never spoken to Steve with such a tone, but it was still so inherently _ Bucky _ that Steve wanted to collapse into his arms, even with the gun pressed firmly against him. He was a fool for wanting that, and he knew it, but everything in his body _ knew _Bucky and yearned to trust him. 

He had to fight in instincts, this one time. He knew better than to throw himself at Bucky and hope that muscle memory would take over from there. He had to play his cards right, and maybe if he did, Bucky would stay and the whole nightmare would be over. 

“My name is Steve. Steve Rogers.” Steve murmurs, working to keep his voice soft and non-threatening. “Buck--you can put the gun away, I’m unarmed, and I’m not a threat. I’m not going to hurt you, and even if I wanted to, which I _ don’t, _I don’t think I could. You can see that--you know that.” He speaks earnestly, meeting Bucky’s eyes with his own wide ones, trying to convey with every aspect of his body language that Bucky could trust him. 

“Who are you.” Bucky demands with a sharp voice. He doesn’t remove the weapon, and his eyes are narrowed sharply down at Steve. It was clear that he didn’t trust him. 

“You know me,” Steve says firmly, willing Bucky to believe his words. He’s proud of the way his voice doesn’t shake. “Bucky. You _ know _ me. I can’t hurt you. I’m untrained. Unarmed. I don’t _ want _to hurt you. You know me--thats why you came here, of all places. You remember something about it, right?”

Bucky glares at Steve for a few moments longer, before he tightens his jaw. He clicks the safety of the gun to _ off. _

_ Shit, _ Steve thinks, panicking. _ Shit, shit-- _

“Who am I.” Buck’s voice is softer, quieter, less confident. This, perhaps, was the part that Bucky was unfamiliar with. 

Steve didn’t expect a question like that, but he supposes he should have. If Bucky was going to kill him now, then of course he was going to get all the information out of Steve that he could. It only made sense. 

If Steve wanted to stay alive, he’d have to trigger something in Bucky that would make Bucky remember him. There was an inherent part of Bucky that would never hurt Steve, and Steve just had to find it. It had to be in there, somewhere in those cold eyes. 

In the next few moments, Steve would have to be the bravest he ever was. He had to be just as brave as Bucky believed he was. Bucky would do this for him, he would succeed. Steve could, too. 

He takes a deep breath, and in a calm, confident tone, Steve explains: “You’re Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, of the 107th, but you let me call you Bucky, a nickname. You’re a good man--you were born and raised in Brooklyn, you went to serve when your country needed you. You were brave, in the war, but you fell. From a train. Do you remember?” Steve doesn’t pause for Bucky to answer. “And then Hydra took you. And they _ brainwashed _ you, Buck, they scrubbed clean everything that made you, _ you _ and they hurt you so that you’d do what they said....and then they sent you away on awful missions where you had to do _ terrible _ things--”

Bucky’s hand drops, and the pressure of the gun is gone. Steve blinks, heart in his throat. Bucky is staring at him with something unreadable in his eyes. It’s not cold, but it’s not particularly warm, either. It’s curious, but hesitant. 

Steve knew he was getting in. It was much easier to think without the nozzle of a gun pressed against your brain, and he quickly inhales and continues.

“--And when they put you in cryo, your...spirit comes here. Think about it. Remember? This place used to be yours, there was that bakery downstairs…” He doesn’t remember the name of it, but it doesn’t matter, something in Bucky is breaking down, his eyes boring into Steve’s. 

“And you met me, when I moved in. I could see you, and hear you, and we...we became friends, first. And then we became more. You gave me these,” Steve pulls Bucky’s dog tags out from under his shirt and holds them up for Bucky’s inspection. Steve looks up at Bucky through his lashes, “And you told me, you _ told me _that you were going to come back for me, and you did.” 

Bucky’s eyes are searching his, and Steve sees something in his resolve break down, something in the Winter Soldier that was so _ Bucky _it gave Steve enough hope to do something that was either exactly the right thing or incredibly stupid. 

“Buck,” Steve whispers, his eyes filling with tears that he couldn’t help at the emotion of the moment; Bucky was _ here, _ and _ real, _he Steve could, if he wanted to touch him. And god, he wanted to, his skin was burning for it. He stands up, craning his neck to meet Bucky’s gaze better. He was taller than Steve remembered, larger, too. Perhaps the serum had something to do with that, or maybe it was years of using his body as a weapon that had made the changes. “I’ve missed you so much.”

And then Steve does it. 

He carefully, _ carefully, _reaches up a hand to cup Bucky’s jaw, moving slowly, so slowly it takes nearly a full minute to reach his destination, his eyes locked with Bucky’s the whole time, trying to convey his intentions, not wanting to startle the man or make Bucky think he couldn’t be trusted. 

Bucky could snap his wrist at any moment, he could break Steve’s neck, he could shoot him between the eyes, all without any hope for Steve to be able to do anything to defend himself. 

But he didn’t. He stared at Steve with wide, surprised eyes, as if he couldn’t believe Steve was stupid or brave enough to actually _ do _this. Steve didn’t know a whole lot about what Bucky remembered while he was like this, but he was pretty sure no one had ever taken the time to show him tenderness or kindness. He was a machine in the eyes of Hydra, and a villain in the eyes of pretty much every one else. Machines didn’t need someone to hold their hand and villains didn’t deserve it. 

He had never been shown love. 

“Steve,” Bucky croons, so softly that Steve shudders, is unable to help a physical reaction to his name coming from those lips, the ones he remembered kissing all too well. It sounded so _ Bucky, _exactly how Bucky would have murmured it to him if nothing had changed between them, if he remembered Steve as perfectly well as Steve remember him--

Bucky let Steve touch him. 

Steve’s cool fingers press against the stubble of Bucky’s jaw, and when Bucky blinks, startled. Steve feels a hot tear run down Bucky’s cheek and onto Steve’s fingers. Tenderly, Steve’s thumb brushes it away. Bucky showing emotion had to be a good thing; Steve was pretty sure the Winter Soldier didn’t just randomly shed a few tears. Maybe memories were resurfacing, maybe Steve was going to get Bucky back.

Bucky blinks fast, as if shocked at himself for doing such a thing. He looks down at the floor, ashamed, and then shyly, back to Steve. 

“Do you remember?” Steve whispers, his bottom lip trembling. His thumb sweeps gently across Bucky’s cheekbone, feeling the angle of it. This, this is all he’d wanted, to feel Bucky close again, to hear Bucky say his _ name. _ “Buck, do you remember me?” Steve’s head is a mantra of _ sayyessayessayyessayyes-- _

But Bucky doesn’t.

Bucky’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he shakes his head slowly. “Я думаю, что ты был моим.” He whispers. 

No more tears fall, but he looked lost and scared, and not at all dangerous. It wasn’t a yes, but Bucky wasn’t shying away from his touch, and it gave Steve hope.

Bucky lifted his metal hand and then dropped it, hesitating. He worked his jaw some more, unsure. 

“It’s okay,” Steve encouraged earnestly. “You can touch me, Buck. I want you to.” 

“You’re so small,” Bucky breathes, frowning. He sizes Steve up, head to toe, and clenches his jaw. “I--”

“You won’t hurt me,” Steve says firmly, his heart racing at the idea of Bucky’s hands on him. “I trust you. If you want to, Buck, you can touch me.”

Bucky swallows, and looks unsure, like he doesn’t know what he wants to do. He blinks, heavy lidded, tilting his head further into Steve’s hand, arching towards the contact like a cat. 

After a moment of silence, Bucky lifts his hand again and presses his cool metal fingers over Steve’s, much like he had in the few moments of contact they’d first had, when he had been in between Hydra and the apartment. 

Bucky’s fingers are cool, and the metal hand is a strange sensation that Steve wants to learn more about. He’s gentle, so gentle it makes Steve’s shoulders shook with silent sobs that he fought to keep under control. 

Here was this man, a broken man, who not even five minutes ago had a gun to Steve’s head. He didn’t know Steve, probably didn’t remember much about him, but he was trusting him, and he was being gentle. A man who had only known brutality and death, was cupping Steve’s hand in his own and pressing his cheek into the contact like he was dying for it. 

“Bucky,” Steve whispers again, his own tear falling hot and fast down his cheek. Bucky doesn’t wipe it away. “It’s okay, it’s alright. We can figure it out. I’m so glad you’re here. I felt like--like a part of me was missing.”

Bucky’s brow twitched, like he was trying to make sense of what Steve was saying, and his fingers flexed a little on top of Steve’s hand. He was here physically, in this room with Steve, but his eyes seemed a little far away, as if trapped back in a Hydra base, somewhere lonely and dark. 

Bucky was being very careful, Steve could tell. The cool metal felt like it could flatten a car, but it was a light, barely-there pressure on top of Steve’s own fingers. 

“Am I safe?” Steve asks him, taking a tiny step closer. 

The Winter Soldier was larger than the Bucky who’d held Steve close, more bulky muscle than wirey. He could kick through doors, could do a lot of damage with that body. Steve felt very aware of their size difference. 

“Are you going to hurt me?” It was a dare, really, with the stubborn way Steve raised his chin up, as if in a bratty taunt. _ Hurt me, if you’re going to, then. Get it over with. Bet you won’t. Bet you won’t. _

Steve felt so small, despite his daring voice, craning his neck so far back it hurt just to meet Bucky’s eyes. If Steve let his head fall forward, his nose would press against the muscle of Bucky’s chest, right where his heart thumped. The air was charged between them, humming with electricity and tension. 

Bucky’s metal thumb sweeps over Steve’s hand. “I don’t know,” he replies, his voice raw and brutally honest. “Maybe.”

“Do you _ want _to hurt me?” Steve rephrases, trying to figure out where Bucky’s headspace was. He didn’t feel the least bit afraid. He felt like things would melt into the way they always had been, like they would collapse on Steve’s bed and Steve would curl up in Bucky’s arms. The world could shudder and shake around them, Hydra and Shield could come banging down Steve’s door, but they’d be together. It would be as easy as breathing.

Bucky’s jaw clenches and unclenches, working fast. He shakes his head once, left to right. “_Negative. _” 

Okay. That was good. That was really good. 

The Winter Soldier _ was _ being careful with Steve, like he knew Steve was something to be gentle with. Like he really didn’t want to hurt him. The intimacy of their contact shot right to Steve’s heart.

“Buck?” Steve sniffs, his voice breaking. He finally let go of Bucky’s cheek and sagged against him. He trusted Bucky to take the weight of him. 

It felt so good, to feel the sturdiness of his chest. He felt the reassurance that Bucky was really _ there _and in the flesh, his heart beating steadily under Steve’s ear. 

He wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist, not squeezing too tightly, but holding on, and to his surprise, Bucky lets him. He doesn’t hug back, but he’s not overly stiff in Steve’s embrace, either. 

“Были ли вы мои?” Bucky tells him, but he sounds lost and dazed, like he wasn’t sure why he was saying certain things, only that he was. Steve presses his cheek into Bucky’s chest. “I don’t remember you.” 

Steve feels a pang in his chest at the words, but he won’t let it discourage him. Bucky didn’t have to remember everything about Steve for them to be happy. Steve could make new memories with Bucky. Even if this new Bucky never fell in love with Steve, they could be friends. Steve would take Bucky in his life in whatever way he could have him. 

“It’s okay, I know. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you’re here. I’m so _ glad _ you’re here,” He whispers to Bucky once again, putting a fierceness behind his words. “Thank god you’re alright.” 

Steve needed to call his friends, he needed to get them here so that they could help take Bucky in, somewhere where he could get the help he needs, and where Hydra wouldn’t be able to get to him anymore. 

Steve closes his eyes, breathing Bucky in. “Buck, please. Stay.” 

But Bucky is already shaking his head, and he steps back from Steve like he’d been burned, putting three feet of distance between them in one quick movement, leaving Steve reeling, his arms empty. 

_ No. _The moment between them shatters, and a part of Steve does, too. His whole body rejects the loneliness, rejects the lack of touch.

Steve drops his hand to his side, feeling useless. “You can stay,” he says again, though he knows it won’t do anything. He can see the resolve written all over Bucky’s face, and knows the man will leave soon. “We can figure this out, Buck. Don’t be afraid, I only want to help.” 

“No,” Bucky says sharply, looking away. His voice is hard again, void of the tenderness it had contained just seconds ago. “And tell your friends to stop looking for me.” 

Steve swallows. Bucky knew that Sam and Clint were on his tail, and he clearly wasn’t viewing their pursuit as a rescue mission. Bucky didn’t want to go with them. That would make things impossibly harder.

“Don’t you want to be free from Hydra?” Steve murmurs, being careful not to raise his voice. Now wasn’t the time to let his temper get the best of him. Just because they shared a moment doesn’t mean he was in the clear, or that Bucky remembered him enough to guarantee he was safe. 

Bucky doesn’t answer, but his jaw tightens and he looks away. He might as well have said _ yes. _Winter Soldier or not, Steve knew Bucky’s body language.

“Hydra doesn’t have to control you anymore, Buck,” Steve pleads, stepping closer. Bucky lets him, but doesn’t move any closer. They’re strangers once again. “My friends only want to help you.” 

“Shut up.” The Soldier barks, and as Steve is about to say something else, Bucky whips around to the door with his gun drawn just in time for Peggy to burst through it, her own weapon held up. 

Steve’s jaw hit the floor. Peggy was wearing soft linen pants and a cream cardigan with embroidered flowers on the shoulders, with her fluffy--but supportive--slippers...and a gun held confidently in her hand, aimed at Bucky’s head. Her hand didn’t tremble, and nothing on her face resembled fear, only alertness and mild concern.

_ What. The. Hell. _

“Don’t shoot!” Steve cries, even as Bucky wraps his arm around Steve’s shoulder and presses the gun hard into Steve’s temple. Steve notices that even though Bucky’s got him tightly enough that Steve wouldn’t be able to struggle away, there is still something about Bucky that is restraining himself. 

He’s not holding Steve as tightly as he would a stronger opponent, he is being gentle, despite the fact that he’s got a gun pressed firmly against Steve’s head. Steve feels pretty confident that Bucky wouldn’t pull the trigger. 

“Don’t shoot, Peggy, please. He won’t hurt me.”

Bucky tightens his grip on Steve a little more, as if to say _ yes, I will. _

Peggy’s eyes are huge as she appraises the Winter Soldier. Steve could see her mind working, seeing the jawline and the nose and the eyes that all looked too similar to a soldier she used to know. Her resolve solidifies, her hands tightening around the gun.

“Steve,” Peggy says calmly, not taking her eyes off Bucky. “What the hell is going on here?” 

Steve knew he had a Russian assassin wrapped around him, and he knew that he had a barrel of a gun shoved hard against his head, ready to kill him with a twitch of his fingers, but Steve felt almost giddy. Bucky was scared now, but before...they’d had something. There was something between them, that Steve could dig at and pick at and use to bring Bucky home. He just needed to diffuse this situation. 

“It’s fine, Peggy. He won’t hurt me,” Steve reassures her once again. “Just, put the gun away, okay? I’m safe.” 

As if in defiance, Bucky presses the gun harder. “I will kill him.” he growls. “I will.” 

Peggy’s fingers flex around her own gun, eyes narrow. She looks between Steve and Bucky, calculating. 

Steve isn’t sure how much damage a bullet would do to Bucky. 

He had the serum after all, but something about the confident way Peggy was holding that gun made Steve think she was a damn good shot, and if she got Bucky between the eyes, he didn’t think there was any serum that would let a man come back from that. “Don’t. Shoot.” He mouths. “Please.”

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Peggy commands. “You’re going to let Steve go, slowly, on my count. Then you’re going to disappear through that window. And if you ever, _ ever _come in this apartment again, I will scalp you and use your hair as a mop to clean your blood from the floor.” 

Steve blinks, astonished. This was not the apple-pie making women he’d met. This wasn’t even the war-saddened women who’d seen too much. This was a soldier, someone who did what she had to do to protect the ones she cared about and didn’t apologize for anything. 

Bucky watches her steadily. He isn’t afraid--Steve can feel his steady heartbeat against his back, and his fingers don’t tremble holding him nor the gun. “Why should I trust you?” Bucky demands. 

Steve cranes his neck to look up at Bucky, who doesn’t move the gun from his head. “You don’t have to trust her, Buck,” he murmurs. “Trust me. Trust that I wouldn’t let you do it if I thought she was going to hurt you. Can you do that?”

Bucky clenches his jaw, but doesn’t answer, staring down at Steve with an unreadable expression. 

“I’m going to step away from you now, okay? Can you let me do that? After that, you can get out of here, and we won’t hurt you.” 

Bucky’s jaw works again, almost like he’s chewing a piece of gum or the inside of his lip. He nods once, and when Steve steps out of his arms, Bucky lets him. 

As soon as Steve is out of Bucky’s grasp, Peggy lunges forward to grab Steve’s arm, hauling him swiftly into her. By the time Steve turns around again to say goodbye, Bucky is gone, the curtains of Steve’s bedroom window billowing with the wind as the only evidence of Bucky’s escape.

He lets out a long breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, and his shoulders deflate.

“Steve,” Peggy snaps, once she sees the danger is gone. “Are you going to tell me why the hell you were calling that man Bucky?” 

***

It isn’t really Steve’s story to tell, but he fills Peggy in because she deserves to know that there is hope. 

She deserves to know that the Winter Soldier is James Buchanan Barnes and that Steve was trying like hell to get him back. He makes them coffee and they sit in his living room, listening to the wind howl against the windows. 

Peggy listens intently, sighing here or there, crossing and uncrossing her legs. When Steve is finished, she gives him a small, sad smile. 

“James is a good man,” She says softly, sipping her coffee. “He so often got dealt the short hand in life, despite how wonderful his soul is...But I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that. You’re quite gone for him.” 

Steve blanches. He hadn’t mentioned anything of his romantic feelings for Bucky to her. “Huh?” 

She only smiles warmly, arching a brow as if daring him to deny it. “Well, come on, Steve. It’s plain to see, even a blind man could notice the way you light up when you talk about him.” 

Steve stares down at his lap. He _was_ gone for Bucky, ruined for anyone else.

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, confessing his sins to the air and to Peggy. “I love him. I don’t care what he’s done, he’s a good man, and I love him.” 

Peggy hums. “You’re going to save him,” She murmurs, watching Steve intently. She takes another sip of her coffee, watching him over the rim of her mug. 

Steve inhales and exhales slowly. It’s a lot of pressure, but the hope in her voice is exactly what Steve needed to hear. He remembers the moments of vulnerability the Soldier had shared with him. The openness on his face that was so _ Bucky _it filled Steve up to the brim with hope. 

“You really think I can?” Steve whispers, afraid that if he spoke too loudly, the wish wouldn’t come true. 

Peggy brushes her weathered hands across Steve’s shoulder, rubbing his back in a slow circle. It's not the kind of contact Steve wants--it's not _Bucky--_but it's not unbearable, either.

She stands to go, pressing her lips to his forehead as she does. “If anyone can, Steven, it is undoubtedly you.” 

Steve blinks after her as she shows herself out. Peggy had faith in him, and Steve had faith in himself. After seeing that moment of weakness in the Winter Soldier’s eyes, Steve knew there was hope.

“If he comes back,” Peggy calls over her shoulder, her hand on the doorknob, “I’ll be there. Saved or not, James is dangerous right now.” 

Steve couldn’t deny that. He didn’t really think Bucky would hurt him, but the man who’d just had the gun pressed to Steve’s head wasn’t entirely Bucky, and if he returns to Hydra, they could wipe his memory again, putting them back at square one. He would have to be at least a little careful. 

“Thanks, Peggy,” Steve tells her softly, as she leaves, throwing a small smile over shoulder, and shutting the door behind her with a quiet _ click. _

Steve falls back into bed and allows himself a few quiet moments to stare up at his ceiling. Bucky had been to his apartment. That meant one of two things. Either one, Bucky remembered something about the apartment, and came to investigate. In that case, maybe he had somehow gotten away from Hydra, and was on the run from them. He seemed to be a far cry from the robotic brain-washed killer that the file had painted him out to be. Bucky was articulate. Precise. _ Tender. _

Or, scenario two, Hydra had sent the Winter Soldier to “take care” of Steve and eliminate him from the playing field. Then maybe, when Bucky saw Steve, his memories were triggered and that’s why he didn’t hurt Steve. 

Both options were feasible, but the former meant Hydra was after Bucky, and the latter meant Hydra was after _ him. _Neither were good.

Steve drags a hand through his hair. “Dammit,” He mutters to himself. “Damn, damn, damn.” 

Finally, he drags himself up. Winter Soldier visit or not, Steve had to continue his day. 

He contemplates for a long time about telling his friends. They were out there looking for Bucky, when Steve had in fact, just seen him. If he tells them now, maybe they’d be able to track Bucky down. 

But did Steve really want Bucky tracked down and taken against his will like a rabid animal? He hadn’t considered the possibility that Bucky wouldn’t _ want _to go with the Avengers, but his reaction today made it clear that he didn’t view the Avengers as his liberators. 

Steve wouldn’t take away any more willpower from Bucky than has already been robbed of him by Hydra. He wasn’t selfish enough for it, no matter how hard he wished he could be. 

So he couldn’t tell his friends just yet. But could he trust them with the information later, after giving Bucky adequate time to get away? 

Steve figured telling his friends would produce one of two reactions: 

One, Clint and Sam would refuse to allow him to be alone in his apartment at any time until Bucky is captured. They would have agents inside the house, and bodyguards with Steve wherever he goes. 

Two, they would do the same thing as in the first instance, only they would take it a step further and relocate Steve to the Avengers tower where he would have to sign in and out of the building every time he wanted to leave, and would be monitored for his ‘safety’ 24/7 by an AI with a British accent. 

Neither options sounded appealing, but he knew both were realistic and pretty much within his friends power to accomplish. 

This apartment was Steve’s home. It was where Bucky knew he could reach Steve. Steve didn’t want to leave, and he didn’t want his home riddled with body guards. That would send the wrong message to Bucky. 

Despite having a gun pressed to his temple and death threats muttered in his ear, Steve felt oddly giddy. 

He didn’t feel like his apartment was unsafe, he wasn’t concerned for his own danger. Seeing Bucky storm in like that, and especially seeing him let down some of his walls for Steve, gave Steve a brighter hope than he’d had since he’d found out Bucky and the Winter Soldier were one in the same.

He didn’t have the urge to get out of the apartment or flee to safety He wanted to run out into the streets and call out for Bucky until he came back. 

He didn’t. 

He scrubbed his hands over his face, through his hair, and willed his mind to go blank from all the busy thoughts. Then he grabbed his phone. 

Steve to “Operation Unthaw”: _ Just checking in to see how things are going. Things are good here. Quiet. _

Steve couldn’t lie in person, but over a voiceless text, it was easy. He pushed his guilty feelings aside. He was doing this for Bucky--his friends would understand. 

Sam to “Operation Unthaw”: _ I wish we had an update to give. Same old same. No sight of him. You seen him around at all? _

Steve knew that Sam was really asked if Steve had seen Bucky’s ghost around the apartment, which would be proof that Bucky was back in cryo. He knew, though from seeing Bucky just moments ago, that he was out and about, and still in the New York area.

Steve to “Operation Unthaw”: _ Haven’t seen my ghost. Hope you guys are being careful & hope we can get together soon to talk about next moves. _

He’d tell them in person; then he’d be able to control the situation better, get ahead of Sam’s spiralling before it got out of control. Then he wouldn’t need to keep secrets. 

“Come home, Buck,” Steve prays into the empty air. He presses his forehead against the cool glass and closes his eyes, remembering the feeling of Bucky’s metal hand over his, Bucky’s intense gaze. “Please just come _ home.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is Lewis Capaldi's "Hold me while you wait" and if that song doesn't sum up this fic, i dunno what does--highly recommend you check it out :) 
> 
> Thank you as always for reading and following this fic, it means so much to me! I know we should probably be getting towards the end of this monster, but I still have so many scenarios I want to play out, so I think this is gonna be a long one!! 
> 
> Have a great day/night! <3
> 
> TRANSLATIONS:  
Я думаю, что ты был моим: I think you were mine  
Были ли вы мои = Were you mine?


	12. Hydra Calls You Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers and Steve implement a new strategy to bring the Winter Soldier in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The russian translations from this chapter were done very clumsily by google translate--please let me know if anything is off :)  
You can find the translations in the end notes! 
> 
> Also, don't hate me...

_ Love of mine  
Hydra calls you home  
With every word and every line  
We never really own  
  
You're the guide  
The parts that make the sum  
No constellation ever shined  
Like Hydra now you’re gone _

\- _Hydra, _Bell Mt. 

* * *

Bucky stays away for a couple days, after that incident.

Sam and Clint have to put a brief pause on their search for him, they tell Steve, because Stark has a mission for them somewhere in Southeast Asia. It will only take a few days, Sam reassures him, and then they’ll be back on top of it, and looking for Bucky. 

Steve tells them to be careful, and makes them promise to check in when they can, to give him some peace of mind. They agree, and that's that. 

Steve isn’t sure if it’s because his friends are out of the country or if it’s completely unrelated, but after the Avengers take off, Steve is haunted by the sensation of someone watching him. 

It’s the same feeling he used to get when Bucky would be in the room but not materialize. 

He could feel eyes on him, but didn’t know where they were coming from. He’d whip around to glare suspiciously behind himself, but there would be no sign of Bucky and no cool air or any other hint that Steve wasn’t alone. He’d gotten pretty sensitive to the apartment and knew full well when Bucky was or wasn’t there, and he was pretty damn sure his ghost _wasn’t_ around. 

Sam and Clint were still tracking the Winter Soldier’s movements, so Steve knew Bucky was still out of cryo. His ghost wasn’t back, but Steve had a feeling that Bucky--the Soldier--was watching him closely. Tracking his movements. 

It started out with little things, things he might have missed, were he not looking for the signs.

One morning when he woke up, his sketchbook was flipped to a different page than he’d last had it, and there was a little bit of melted snow by the window in the living room; proof that someone had been in his apartment--in his bedroom--while he slept. 

Nothing in the apartment was missing, and Steve was completely unscathed. Given that the picture was flipped to the sketch of Steve and Bucky slow dancing, Steve had reason to believe that Bucky was the one who had been letting himself in. Checking things out.

It was curious, why Bucky hadn’t hurt Steve, or woken him up to ask more questions, but Steve chose to interpret that as a positive sign. Maybe Bucky was giving himself time to remember, using the apartment as a way to access his memories of his past and of Steve. 

If he’d crept in while Steve was asleep, the Winter Soldier would have had multiple opportunities to kill Steve, to kidnap him, or to take his time and make it look like an accident. 

But he didn’t. 

Steve wasn’t sure if it was the truth, or if it was wishful thinking, but on the nights were he really felt eyes on him, he’d wake up to the heat being turned on a little higher, his blanket tucked a little tighter around him, and all of his doors and windows latched, even if he was sure he’d left them open. 

It was the same things that Bucky’s ghost did for him, little things that would be almost unnoticeable, if it were anyone less observant than Steve. 

All of these seemed to be positive signs, but it wouldn’t be enough. 

Steve kept contemplating telling Clint and Sam his theory, that he was sure Bucky was still in New York, watching over him, and that he suspected Bucky wasn’t working for Hydra anymore, but something in his gut kept telling him to keep it to himself for a little while longer.

He was afraid of what his friends would do if they suspected the Winter Soldier was coming in and out of Steve’s apartment freely. His earlier concerns of being shadowed by guards or moved to the tower returned. 

Steve wanted to stay where he knew Bucky could find him. He didn’t want Bucky to stop visiting him. Steve being here, in the apartment, might be a huge reason Bucky was getting his memories back and Steve didn’t feel unsafe enough to risk losing that chance. 

And maybe, just _ maybe, _if Steve kept it to himself, Bucky would come back again and again, would talk to him, and maybe Steve wouldn’t need the Avengers to take him in by force. It was already clear that Bucky didn’t view the Avengers as his liberators and the likelihood of him coming with them without a fight was slim, in Steve’s opinion. 

But there was a thin veil of trust being built between him and Bucky, and if he could make that a little stronger, he had a chance of convincing Bucky to trust his friends, too. There wouldn’t have to be any violence, or bloodshed. It would be...simple. 

He wanted Bucky to walk in right now, while he was awake and could talk to him, hear his voice, could touch him. If he closed his eyes and tried hard enough, he could remember the smell of Bucky, the electricity of their contact, the stillness of the moment and the fragility of it. 

The last time they’d spoken, Bucky didn’t know who he was, but it was clear that there was a part of him that didn’t want to hurt Steve, and Steve only hoped that that part had grown stronger since their last confrontation. He had to believe that Bucky was working on his own agenda, and had broken free of Hydra’s grasp.

If Bucky really were on the run from Hydra, wouldn’t he be scared? 

With Hydra no doubt breathing down his neck, trying to get their valuable soldier back, and the Avengers on his tail, Bucky should have left bustling New York for somewhere far away.

If Bucky really didn’t want to be found, he could have easily made off somewhere more remote where he’d have better chances of going underground. 

But he stuck around anyway. 

Steve knew what he had to do. 

***

Steve places the package with one of Sam’s old sweaters, large enough to fit around Bucky’s bulk, a few water bottles, two peanut butter and jam sandwiches, some medical supplies, and a note by the window sill in the hopes that his visitor would find it to be of some use. 

The note, in Steve’s messy scrawl, read: 

_ Dear Bucky, _

_ I left these things here for you in case you might need them. I’m not sure how you’re doing--we haven’t spoken in a long time, but I know you’ve been around. I even think you’re beginning to remember me, since you haven’t tried to hurt me, but have been in the apartment on multiple occasions. I hope that one day soon you come over while I’m awake. I just want to talk to you Buck, I can answer any questions you have. I can help you. I want to help you. _

_ My friends, they’re looking for you. But they will not_ _ hurt you, so please don’t be afraid. They just want to get you away from Hydra. The rest we can figure out from there. _

_ Please stick around a while longer so we can figure this out together. _

_ ‘Till the end of the line & **always yours,** _

_ Steve _

He places it near the window where he’s sure Bucky would see it if he came in, and the next day when he wakes up, all the contents of the package are missing, except for the letter, which is ripped up into tiny little pieces, and sprinkled over Steve’s floor like snow.

***

“Nat--you came. Thanks, c’mon in.” Steve opens the door wider for her, and she slides past him, her face unreadable. The moon is high in the sky, and Steve’s got candles lit and fairy lights on to make the empty apartment seem a little more homey. It’s a futile effort, though. 

Nothing feels right when Bucky isn’t around.

Nat is stiff. They hadn’t really spoken since that day where Nat revealed Bucky’s identity to him, and things were tense at best. Steve had reached out because he needed her on their side, and because he missed one of his best friends. 

After debating for hours on whether or not Steve should tell his friends about Bucky visiting him, out of fear of being forced to be under surveillance, moved to the tower, or any number of unnecessary measures, Steve had decided to come clean. His friends were risking everything on his behalf and Bucky’s, and he had to trust that they would respect his wishes of staying in the apartment, where Bucky could access him. 

Nat knew about Sam and Clint tracking down Bucky, but hadn’t really done anything to stop them, so Steve wasn’t entirely sure where she stood on the issue, but he was eager to find out, and to make amends. He hated the tension between them, and most of all, hated that it had leaked out into Nat’s relationships with Sam and Clint. 

“What happened to your bedroom door?” Natasha’s eyes narrowed immediately as they walk past it. Steve had propped the door up against the wall so that it wasn’t in his way, but he didn’t have the tools lying around to fix it and honestly, it had been the last thing on his mind.

He should have counted on her keen eye picking it out faster than he could think to bring it up.

“I’ll tell you,” Steve promises, feeling oddly nervous. His hands are clammy, he forgot how intimidating Nat could be sometimes, and there was a lot riding on this conversation. “Just, sit down. You want something to drink?” 

“No.” 

“Are you hungry? I can--”

“I’m fine.” 

Steve blows out a long breath, sitting down on the couch and tucking his legs under him. 

Natasha sits stiffly, which hurts Steve’s heart to see. He missed the comfortable way she used let her walls fall down around him, used to tuck up into his couch and laugh until her shoulders shook with the force of it. He had to fix things between them.

“What happened?” She echoes again, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows arched. Her eyes scan over him, looking for visible signs of injury. “Are you hurt?” 

Steve presses his lips together. “Don’t freak out,” He begs. “Because I’m fine. You can see that I’m fine, I’m not hurt or--or even bruised. Okay?” 

Her face is shrouded in suspicion, eyes narrowed tightly. “Steven,” She says warningly. Steve suspects she’s already put the pieces of the puzzle together, but wanted to hear Steve say it anyway. 

“Buck was here,” he says slowly. “This morning.” 

Her features harden, looking from the door, back to him. “As in..?” 

“The Winter Soldier,” Steve confirms, and watches Nat’s face flicker through many emotions; first shock, then worry, then, finally, anger. 

“_What?” _She growls. “He was in your apartment? Jesus, Steve, tell me you’re kidding.” 

“No,” He sighs, bracing himself. He'd expected this reaction. “I’m not kidding.” 

Her eyes flash at him, burning with fury. “Fuck, Steve, you can’t stay here anymore, it isn’t safe. I thought this place was being monitored by agents around the clock--”

Steve had unleashed a monster he did not have the power or energy to control. “Nat--”

“Did he try to hurt you? What did he want? You’ll stay at the tower with me until we get this sorted. Clint and Sam have let you take this too far-” 

“_Nat.” _Steve barks sharply, getting her attention, though she doesn’t look pleased about it. “Let me explain.” 

She broods, but doesn’t speak again, letting him go on. She looks like she might erupt at any second, so Steve had to chose his words carefully. 

“Bucky was here, but I didn’t see him. I haven’t seen him since the day he did that,” Steve nods his head in the direction of the unhinged door. “But he’s been here multiple times since then. Definitely this morning. He uh, took some stuff I left for him. He has never hurt me. Besides only once, he’s only ever been here when I’m out or asleep. He doesn’t touch me, or wake me. I think he’s just trying to remember.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” She hisses, “The Asset is a loose canon. He could be docile for now, but the minute you wake up when he doesn’t expect you to, you’ll have a metal hand clenched around your throat.”

  
“I know I have to be careful,” He tells her calmly. “But honestly, Nat, if he wanted to hurt me, he’d have done it by now. He’s had plenty of opportunity.” 

She seethes at him, bewildered. “Do Clint and Sam know about his...visits?” 

Steve shakes his head. “I didn’t want them to go crazy or not let me stay in my own apartment anymore,” He admits honestly. “If I really thought I was in danger, I would have, but I don’t, Nat, honestly. I don’t feel unsafe at all.” 

“Your opinion doesn’t mean anything, Steve,” Natasha quips in annoyance. “You have terrible instincts. This is...ridiculous.” 

That, Steve knew, was not true. He trusted his gut every step of the way with Bucky, and it hadn’t let him down yet. He would keep following his heart. 

“Nat, I’m a grown ass man and if I decide this is what I want to do, then--”

“You need to tell Clint and Sam about what’s been happening.” 

Steve knew that. It’s half the reason he called Nat here in the first place. He had to come clean.

“Why don’t you tell them?” Steve challenged, already knowing the answer. He sticks up his chin and stares her down. 

She stares back for a moment, and then looks away, guilty. 

“I haven’t talked to either of those suicidal idiots by choice in a long time," She mutters. She rubbed a hand over her eyes, and Steve sees the exhaustion there. This conflict was weighing on her more than she was letting him see. “They knew what they were doing when they agreed to help you.”

“Nat,” Steve begins gently. He knows that she’s angry because she’s scared. Nat was a control freak, and not being able to control this situation, the one where Steve was at risk, was clearly driving her crazy. “All I want--all Sam and Clint want, too--is for an innocent man to be kept away from Hydra. He’s dangerous, and unstable, at times--I know that. But I think he’s proven himself at least worthy of a little bit of doubt.” 

“Innocent,” Natasha laughs without humour, “He is _ not.” _

“Condemning someone for being under the control of another against their will is unlike you,” Steve murmurs softly, watching her with an even expression. It’s unfair of him, maybe, but he had to say something that would break down her stony walls. 

Her face twitches at that accusation, but she knows Steve has a point.

A long, uncomfortable silence sits between them, neither one wanting to give an inch. “I care about you, Steve,” Natasha says, finally, staring at her hands. She’s lost a little of her confidence, her facade breaking as lets him in a little more. “I don’t want this to end badly.”

Steve grabs one of her hands, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You love me,” Steve corrects, offering a playful smile. She rolls her eyes, but her face softens. 

“When you’re not being a shithead,” She mutters. “Yeah, I do.” 

“I know that. And I love you too, Nat.” 

She watches him with pursed lips for a few moments longer. “You want me to help Clint and Sam get your boyfriend back.” 

“I want,” Steve corrects, “For Bucky to be safe. I don’t think looking at Hydra bases or safe-houses is the right move anymore. Truthfully, I don’t think Bucky is working under Hydra anymore at all. I think he’s on the run from them.” 

This has her interest. Her posture relaxes a little, as if this information offers some comfort. “Why do you think that?” 

“When I spoke to him, he seemed to remember at least a little bit of who I was. If he came after me on Hydra’s orders, wouldn’t those orders have been to kill me? Or at least, to take me? Surely Hydra wouldn’t tell him to break into my apartment and then leave without gaining any vital information or without taking anything important with him.” 

Natasha considers this for a moment. She nods one, sharply. If she’s impressed by Steve’s deduction, she doesn’t show it. “Maybe you’re right.” 

“I want you to talk to Clint and Sam. I want this tension between us to end.” Steve says softly. “And I want Bucky back,” He takes a steadying breath, feeling his lungs protest a little. He was still under the weather, and breathing hadn’t been easy the past few days. “And I think, I really think, Nat, that we can do all of that.” 

She watches him, lips pressed in a hard line. She pulls her hand back from his. “Steve,” She begins tiredly, but then cuts off, and rubs her eyes again. “He killed Stark’s parents.”

Steve’s heart sinks. _ No. _“What?” 

“The Winter Soldier. Bucky. Years ago, but. He killed them. Made it look like a car accident, of course. But he beat them to death. Stark’s father, Howard. His _ mother, _Steve. Innocent people. Good people. Left Stark to be an orphan.” 

Steve covers his mouth. Natasha didn’t speak about Tony often, but Steve knew they were friends, and relatively close ones. She had to trust Tony with her life, they went on missions together, she lived in his building, she followed his orders. That ascertains a certain bond all on its own. 

And the Winter Soldier had killed Tony Stark’s mother and father.

“Oh, god.” He didn’t remember seeing the name in the Winter Soldier file, but then, there were so many that it was hard to read each one and try to imagine the life they lived before Bucky snuffed it out. “It wasn’t him,” Steve pleaded with her, feeling like he was grasping at straws. He had almost had her--he couldn’t lose her now, not over something that Bucky had no control over. “The Bucky I know would never.” 

“He is no longer the Bucky you know,” Natasha says seriously. “As I’m sure you’ve discovered. In my experience, peaceful encounters don’t end up with unhinged doors.” She eyes the door with contempt. 

She had a point. 

“Please?” Steve ignores her words. “Nat, please, just help me get him back. He’s not the bad guy in this story. He can prove it to you, and so can I. If I didn’t believe that with my whole heart, I wouldn’t be asking the people that mean the most to me in the entire _ world _to go against orders and risk their lives for him. I’m a reasonable person. I know I’m right about this.” 

“I don’t trust him.” 

“You don’t have to trust him,” Steve begs. “Trust _ me. _ You said I’ve got terrible instincts, but that isn’t true. I’ve followed my gut on most things in life, and look how it’s turned out for me. I’ve got an apartment I love, a man I love, friends who I’d die for, and a job that is both rewarding _ and _ pays the bills. It doesn’t _ get _ better than this,” He smiles shyly at her. “So when I say that we need to get Bucky back, it’s ‘cause I know in my heart that he’s a _ good man, _and he deserves the same second chance that you got.” 

She waits for a long time, looking between the door, and Steve, and her hands, clasped in her lap. She takes a long suffering breath. 

“Fine.” She says curtly, looking extremely unhappy about it. “But I’m going to bring him into Avenger’s custody, and then we’ll decide what to do with him from there. That is all I can promise.”

Steve nods, trying not to look too excited. Natasha knew Hydra better than Sam and Clint, she’d trained under them and had a better understanding of how the whole thing worked, Steve was pretty sure. Having her on their side would certainly help. “Okay.”

“And we’re not bringing Stark in on this until we’ve got the Soldier in our custody and are about to bring him in. Until then, you need to tell Sam and Clint that it’s _ imperative _we are careful about what Tony knows.” 

_ Steve has added “Nat” to Group Chat: “Operation Unthaw”. _Nat’s phone pings with a notification telling her she’d been included. 

“There,” Steve says dryly. “Tell them yourself.”

Natasha looks thoroughly unimpressed, but she begins typing a message anyway. Her fingers are quick and silent on her phone, and within seconds, Steve’s notification goes off. 

Nat to “Operation Unthaw”: _ Okay, you idiots. Meet at Steve’s apartment, tomorrow night when you get back from the mission. We need a new strategy. _

Clint responds with a big thumbs up emoji and a heart. Sam replies with a middle finger emoji, lets that sit for a few minutes, and then says: _ thanks, Nat. Glad to have you back. _

For now, all is well. 

***

That night, as promised, they meet at Steve’s. 

Clint brings Lucky, who seems much more at ease in the apartment than he did the first time, trotting happily inside with his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. 

The rest of his friends pile in to Steve’s living room, with Clint and Sam on the couch, Nat in the bean bag chair, and Steve cross legged on the floor on a cushion, nursing the herbal tea he’d made prior to their arrival and Lucky close to his side.

There is an uneasy silence between all of them as they sit and eye one another, the room filled only by faint noises of outside traffic and Lucky’s happy panting, before Nat is the one to break it. She pulls out a small speaker from her coat pocket, about the size of a hockey puck, and presses the button in the centre.

Loud jazz music emits from it, filling the apartment.

When Steve gives her a questioning look, Nat shrugs. “If he is watching you, then this will drown out any coms he’s placed, so he won’t hear our conversation. You listen to this stuff, right?”

“I do,” Steve hedges, not sure if he should be offended by her tone or not. 

“So hearing this won’t raise suspicion.” 

Smart. Steve nervous goes to shut the curtains, staring out at the rooftops around him thinking maybe he’d get a glimpse of Bucky--but there is no one, just the dark sky. 

“Who?” Clint asked dumbly. Steve shrinks back to his seat, preparing for a fight.

“The Winter Soldier has been in Steve’s apartment,” She tells Clint and Sam tiredly, getting straight to the point. Their faces morph into immediate shock. “Multiple times.”

Sam and Clint immediately turn to Steve, both of their faces a mixture of anger and fear. 

Steve shoots her a betrayed glare. He was going to ease into that one, not drop it like a bomb. 

“_What--” _Sam hisses, jumping to his feet like he planned on knocking some sense into Steve himself. 

Steve holds up the hand not supporting his mug in surrender. “Listen,” He says through clenched teeth. “I’m sorry. _ That,” _He shoots a scathing look in Nat’s direction. “Wasn’t how I want to tell you. He’s been here, yes, but he’s never hurt me. I’ve been completely safe this whole time, truly.” 

Natasha scoffs, and Steve glares harder. Sam looks like he might punch a hole in Steve’s drywall. 

“How could you not tell us?” Clint yells. Lucky’s ears lower at the sound, cowering by his legs. “We’ve spent every second of every minute searching for him, and you didn’t have the decency to let is know he was right here, under our noses? Do you know how easy it would have been for us to just run surveillance on your apartment and wait for him to show up?” 

Steve feels guilty, knowing Clint had a valid point. “I-I know,” He tells them, fiddling with the tea bag in his mug. “I should have told you, but it’s only been the past few days, and you were away on that mission anyway--”

“It’s the_ principal_ of the matter, Steve,” Sam says. “Trust has to go both ways, man.” 

“I was worried that you’d make me move out of the apartment, or-or hire bodyguards or something for me. But I’m _ not _in danger, not from Bucky. I think his memories are coming back.” 

“You’re not in a position to decide whether you are or are not safe,” Sam broods. His entire body is tense, shoulders curled in tight. “If we’re going to be a team, you can’t just decide things on your own.” 

Steve didn’t like being chastised, but he could admit when he messed up. He was asking his friends to risk everything, and yet he hadn’t been a hundred percent honest with them about what was happening with Bucky. Steve’s not sure what difference it would have made, given that Sam and Clint were out of the country while it was happening except for that first contact, it was the principal that mattered the most, and Steve had betrayed that. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve offers sincerely. “You’re right. I should have told you when it happened. I guess I just got too hopeful that we wouldn’t need to take Bucky in, that...he’d remember me and come willingly.” He glances up at Sam through his lashes, who can tell is the most hurt by Steve’s deception. “I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me?”

“You need to promise to be a team, from here on out,” Clint warns. “We have to trust each other.”

Steve nods. He could agree to those terms. “I promise.” 

“And no more secret rendez-vous with the Winter Soldier,” Sam grumbles. “And _ honesty, _always.” 

“Honesty, always,” Steve pledges, and offers a shy smile. When Sam rolls his eyes at him and takes a seat again, he knows he’s been forgiven. 

“Heartwarming.” Natasha deadpans, but she’s smiling to herself. “Truly.” 

“Right,” he ignores her sarcasm. “Okay, now that _ that _is settled...I think we should change strategies for getting Bucky to come into custody.” 

Nat folds his arms over her chest and nods for him to go on. 

“Like I was saying earlier to Natasha, I don’t think Bucky is working with Hydra anymore. I think,” He murmurs, “That his memories are coming back, I think he has run away from Hydra, gone rogue.” 

“If that’s true,” Sam says slowly. “If he was breaking through his programming, it would be a hell of a lot easier to reason with him.” 

Steve nods eagerly. “That’s right,” He was getting excited. All of his friends, under one roof again, their eyes beginning to sparkle. “I think Bucky will come back to this apartment; I don’t know when, but I think he will. He’s worried about me. He’s been...taking care of me, in the same little ways he used to do when he was a ghost. I think, if I pretended to be sick,” He swallows, “It would draw him out faster.” 

It was a cheap shot, deceiving Bucky to get what he wanted, but Steve didn’t know how long he’d have to wait until he saw Bucky again and if Hydra was looking for him just as avidly as Shield was, Steve didn’t want to waste any time. 

“Because you’ll be weaker, and therefore a less threatening target?” Clint tilts his head, considering this strategy. 

“Not because of that. It doesn’t take a genius to know that I’m not a match for him, he knows he could easily overpower me if he had to,” Steve snorts. “But because Bucky has being a caretaker in his bones. If there a part of Bucky, even a small one, that is beginning to remember me, seeing me sick and alone and not taking care of myself will trigger the part of him that cares for me. I just know it will. I think he’s been watching me, and this will draw him out.”

“You’ve become quite the tactical expert,” Natasha says softly, eyebrow arched. She appraises Steve like he’s impressed with him, and he grins under the flattery. 

“I just know Bucky very well.” 

“Well,” Sam sighs, settling back against the couch, more at ease now. “I can’t argue that. You do know him better than any of us. If you think this will work--”

“It will,” Steve says with conviction, sticking his chin up. “It has to.” 

“--then I say let’s do it.” 

Steve’s smile grows into a full grin. He didn’t expect his friends to be on board so easily, he had planned to argue and reason well into the night. “Really?” 

“What do we do, after you’ve got him here?” Clint challenges. “I don’t think he’s going to come willingly.”

Steve remembered Bucky warning him to keep the Avengers away from him; and he agreed with Clint. Bucky didn’t see the Avengers as allies or rescuers, he saw them as another threat trying to take him down. “I’ll need time to talk to him,” Steve tells them, nodding his head. “I’ll explain whats happening, and that we can help him.”

“I don’t know how much we can offer him,” Natasha warns. “Don’t promise him things you can’t deliver on, Steve.”

Steve swallows. “What...do you think will happen to him? If we get him to come in?” 

Natasha tucks her hair behind her ear and considers. “Well. Stark is going to find out, evidently, and he will _ not _be happy, but. He won’t do anything too rash, Pepper will make him see reason. We can get a pardon in the works, considering we have proof that Barnes was brainwashed and therefore not in his right mind, but Shield is likely going to want something for itself out of that deal.”

“Like?” Steve prompts. 

“Well,” She sighs. “What did it do for Clint and I?” 

“A spot on the team,” Clint nods. “That’s probably what they’ll offer him. He’s talented, well trained. They won’t want to let that go to waste in a jail cell.” 

Steve didn’t know if that was good news or bad news. He supposed it would be better than Bucky being immediately locked up, but he didn’t know how willing Bucky would be to join the Avengers. He’d have to be very convincing. 

“Okay,” Steve says, to show he’s following along. It was his only chance at getting Bucky back. “I’ll talk to him.” 

“And if you can’t get him to agree?” Natasha murmurs, her eyes hard. “What then? We let him walk free?”

“Well--” 

“That won’t fly with the government, and it won’t fly with Stark,” She finishes flatly. 

She had Steve backed into a corner and she knew it. Steve didn’t want to give the okay that would let his friends take Bucky by force, but what if he couldn’t convince him, and he fell back into Hydra’s clutches again? 

What if Bucky hated him for being locked up? Or--for having to work for the Avengers instead of deciding his own fate? 

Could Steve bear the weight of Bucky’s mistrust if it meant protecting him? 

Did Steve have any _ right _to insert himself in Bucky’s life and make choices for him? 

“I’ll convince him,” Steve rasps dryly, nodding his head. “I have to.” It was the only way he’d be able to live with himself. 

Natasha looks unimpressed, but she doesn’t press the issue any further. Steve buries a hand in Lucky’s fur for a distraction and concentrates on the blaring music. 

“It’s a plan,” Clint nodded. “We’ll get Barnes to come peacefully with us.” 

“You should take up post on the roof of the next building over,” Steve gets up stiffly, his muscles protesting, and stands by the window, pointing to the tall grey building that lay next to his apartment. 

It was full of office spaces, Steve was pretty sure, and would be easy enough for his friends to gain access to. 

“From the roof, you should be able to get a clean view into the East windows of my place. You can bug the apartment so that you can listen in on our conversation. Then you’ll know if I’m in trouble,”He says, mostly to placate them rather than for his own safety. He trusted Bucky. “I’ll need time to talk to him, I don’t think he’ll be convinced immediately, so. Give me time.”

“We can do that,” Sam reassures him. “But you better be convincing.” 

“I know,” Steve swallows. He felt the pressure weighing him down already. _ Could _he convince Bucky? And...if he couldn’t, what then? “So, do we all agree? That’s the plan?”

“I think,” Clint says slowly, a small smile spread over his face. “That you’ve got a gift for tactics.” 

Steve snorts, his ears going a little red under the approving looks of his friends. Even Natasha looked a little appreciative. “Hardly.” 

Clint shrugs. “Just sayin. That’s a pretty solid plan, Steve. It just might work.” 

Steve blushes a little more under the compliment. For the first time, he begins to feel as though perhaps he could make a spot for himself in the same crazy world his friends lived in, one with Hydra and aliens and talking towers. 

If nothing else, it was a nice thought.

***

The next morning, Steve begins setting the stage. He knows that Bucky is likely watching him, and it will look suspicious if he suddenly gets sick after being perfectly fine. 

He puts on the performance of a lifetime, actually fake-coughing so hard that afternoon that he triggers a real asthma attack and has to search for his inhaler. 

He presses the thing to his lips and inhales deeply, remembering the first time Bucky skidded his inhaler across the floor, the first time Bucky whispered _ shit doll, are you alright? _The first time their eyes met, the first time Steve made Bucky laugh so hard he doubled over…

The last time they spoke.

Peggy comes over around 3pm, and he keeps up the act for her, sniffling miserably and blowing his nose more than was probably necessary. She offers to make him chicken noodle soup but he politely declines. She frets over him a little, but settles down when Steve reassures her it’s just a common cold, and nothing more serious. 

“And how are things going with James?” She asks warmly, her eyes worried. “Have you seen him since?” 

Steve, knowing he’s being watched, had to be careful about what information he let out into the open air. “Haven’t seen him,” He says, voice nasally. “I really hope he comes by soon, though. I miss him a hell of a lot.” It was all true. 

“I’m sure he’ll find a way home to you, dear.” She coos softly, offering him a sympathetic smile. “From what you’ve told me, you two have something very special.” 

“We do,” Steve nods eagerly. Another truth. “It’s hard to imagine life without him these days.” 

Peggy gives him a knowing look. “Things always work out the way they’re supposed to. I know he’s not the _ same _man anymore, but if there is any of Bucky left in that Soldier, then he won’t give up. You just be careful now, don’t do anything stupid.”

Steve swallows. “I’ll try,” he lies quietly, and watches the steam rolling off of his tea. That was as much as he could give her.

***

Sam, Clint, and Nat are in place. 

Bugs are scattered in every room of Steve’s apartment, so that his friends should be able to pick up on the conversation no matter where Steve was in the apartment, and there were hidden, out of sight.

Bugging him or giving him a com was too risky; if Bucky noticed it, he’d feel betrayed and he’d flee, no doubt. This way, if Bucky found a bug, Steve could blame it on his fretful friends just trying to protect him. It wouldn’t put the whole plan at risk in the same way. 

Steve coughs dramatically. He’d been lounging around all morning and afternoon, being as theatrical as possible. If Bucky was watching him, he couldn’t let his act slip up. He was concentrating so hard on playing sick he was half sure he was really coming down with something. 

He’s wearing grey sweats and a light blue t shirt that was only a _ few _sizes too big for him. He wanted to look at least a little bit dignified for trying to convince the love of his life to stick around, but he of course still needed to look like someone who was sick and lounging around. 

At around 6:34pm, Natasha texts him a frowny emoji. They’d been staked out for two hours.

_ Clint is hungry, _ she texts him. _ I told him to bring snacks, but obviously he didn’t. _

_ There’s a great pad thai place around the corner, _ he types back, smiling to himself. He can picture the scene all too clearly; Clint whining in Natasha’s ear, Sam smugly munching on the brie cheese and artisanal crackers he brought for himself, Natasha glaring lasers at the both of them. _ He can go and be back in less than ten. _

_ Thanks, _ She replies. _ You just saved my sanity. _

Steve puts his phone face down on the couch beside him, and closes his eyes for a moment, giving into the comfort and warmth of his little cocoon. Before he knows it, sleep takes him. 

***

Steve is woken up two hours later, a creaking floorboard startling him into consciousness. 

He’s not sure how long it’s been since he fell asleep, and wants to keep his eyes closed so that he doesn’t take his visitor by surprise. There is no extra light filtering in behind his eyelids, though, so he assumes it’s sometime in the evening. 

With his eyes closed, Steve traces out the movements from the direction they’re coming from. One person, wearing thick-soled shoes. Moving slowly. Hesitantly. To his left. 

_ Him. _

Steve waits. 

He hears the steps get closer, and then he feels a hand press gently against his forehead, checking for a fever. 

The hand was flesh and blood, not metal, but somehow Steve _ knew _it belonged to Bucky, even though he’d only felt those hands on him a few times in his life. The warmth, the callous--it was Bucky. Steve struggles not to arch up into the touch. 

The hand lingers for a moment, and then Steve hears Bucky let out a long suffering sigh. It’s exactly the kind of dramatic thing that Bucky directed at Steve all day long when they were sharing a space.

Steve wants to open his eyes, because he knows that sound--that sound belongs to _ his _Bucky. 

The hand brushes some of Steve’s hair back from his forehead in a tender movement. A thumb strokes along Steve's cheekbone. 

Steve remains still. If he accidentally startled Bucky, he knew it wouldn’t end well for anyone, probably least of all him. 

“I know you’re awake.” Bucky’s voice tells him. Bucky doesn’t sound angry, or suspicious, just tired. Steve guesses he wasn’t as good an actor as he thought, and Bucky probably noticed that his breathing wasn’t the deep and even the sound of someone sleeping. “And I know you ain’t really sick. You don’t have a fever. Your breathing is fine.”

Maybe Steve wasn’t a good an actor as he gave himself credit for, or maybe Bucky knew him better than Bucky gave _ himself _credit for; either way, the gig was up. 

Steve presses his face into Bucky’s hand for a moment longer, revelling in the comfort of Bucky’s hands on him, before he lets his eyes flutter open. 

Bucky isn’t in tac gear. He’s dressed as any other civilian, a dark grey henley, heavy black leather jacket, dark jeans and boots. He’s wearing a leather glove over his metal arm, concealing it. He’s freshly shaven, even, and Steve would be lying if he said the sight of him in leather didn’t make his mouth water. 

It was Bucky in a way Steve had never seen him before--he’d seen him in his 40’s war attire, and in his Winter Soldier tac gear, but never like this. It was as if Bucky was any other man in his late 20’s, handsome without knowing it and put together without trying. 

“Why pretend?” Bucky inquires, taking his hand back. He sits on the couch beside Steve, putting some distance between them. He seems oblivious to the effect he has on Steve. “Why lie?”

“To see you,” Steve says, tucking his legs up into his chest. It’s not entirely untrue. He feels clingy and uneasy. “I missed you, and I didn’t know when you were going to come back.” 

“возлюбленная,” Bucky murmurs, and then frowns deeply, his jaw tightening. He stares at the window. “You confuse me.”

“You confuse _ me,” _Steve scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. “When you were here, before, you let me touch you. Talk to you. And then you never came back.” 

“I came back,” Bucky argues. “I ate the food you made for me. The sandwich.” 

Steve can’t hide his surprise at that. He knew the sandwich was gone, but he hadn’t really expected Bucky to have eaten it. Eating food made by someone else in Bucky’s profession requires a certain level of trust that he is flattered to have earned. “Did you like it?”

Bucky gives him a crooked smile that is just so _ him. _Steve hadn’t seen the Winter Soldier smile yet, and he felt his insides turn to mush at the sight of it. “I did.”

“I can make you another, if you’re hungry,” Steve offers. Bucky didn’t look like he was wasting away, but if he was on the run, he didn’t know how much Bucky was taking time to look after himself, and eating as much as he should be. If things that Steve read online about Enhanced people were true, they needed double or even triple the calories of a regular person. 

“Not hungry,” He declines. Belatedly, he adds, “Thanks.”

“You ripped up my letter,” Steve tries not to sound hurt. “Why?” 

Bucky looks guilty, staring at the floor. “I wanted you to let me go.” Steve opens his mouth to say more, but Bucky continues, “I could...see that it was hurting you, holding on to hope that I would come back.” 

Steve swallows. “But you did come back.” 

Bucky glances up at him through his lashes, and gives Steve another small smile. It’s guilty, in a way, full of regret. “Yeah, I did.” He admits. “I guess I’m more selfish than I thought.” 

“I don’t think it’s selfish.” 

“You think more highly of me than I deserve.” 

Steve narrows his eyes. “I think you deserve the whole goddamn world.” 

Bucky’s eyes meet his, and there is a moment where Steve’s heart stops, and he thinks Bucky might kiss him, but then Bucky glances at Steve’s lips and deflates, looking away. 

“You care about me,” Steve says. It sounds like an accusation. “You care if I’m sick or healthy, sad or happy. You care.”

“Steve,” Bucky frowns deeply at him. “Don’t.” 

“Well, you do!” Steve waves his hands up and then lets the fall limply by his sides. “You _ do._ Why keep coming back here? Why turn the heat up or-or lock the windows when you leave?" 

Bucky opens his mouth, and then closes it again. A long silence sits between them, and Steve remembers his friends, listening in on them, perhaps even judging Steve’s lack of eloquence. He had to start steering this conversation in the direction it was meant to go. 

“I’ve been...remembering,” Bucky whispers, tucking some of his hair behind his ear. The gesture is so adorable that Steve wants to pinch Bucky’s cheeks and coo at him. “Mostly you.” 

“You--remember me?” Steve mumbles, feeling clumsy. _ Bucky remembered him. _That was everything. If they had that, then nothing was impossible. 

Bucky looks away, his shoulders rising and falling. “Not everything,” He admits in a low voice. “Flashes. It’s…” He shakes his head. “Confusing. Hard to tell what’s real and what...what I’ve made up, in my head.” 

“I can help you,” Steve says quickly, nearly tripping over the words in an effort to get them out. “I can confirm, or, or clarify. I’ll tell you anything you want to know, Buck. We’ll figure this out.” This was a good transition into Steve’s pitch; the one that he was depending on to go well. 

He had to be careful about how he worded things. 

Bucky stares at him curiously, as if he was drawing connections between the Steve he remembered and the blond sitting before him. 

“Steve,” Bucky begins, and it doesn’t sound like he’s about to say anything good. “Things aren’t going to be easy just because I have a vague idea of who you are.” 

“I never said they’d be easy,” Steve protests with a frown, pushing the blanket off of himself. “Nothing about this has been easy, Buck, but if you remember who I am, then. We can figure out the rest.”

“The rest,” Bucky echoes slowly. “Like how Hydra is hunting me down for going rogue? Like how the US Government has me as National Security Threat number one? Like how all of your _ friends _are under orders to kill me?” 

Steve swallows. Bucky was right; they had a lot to face, and many more hills to climb before they could be lazy in bed, before they could kiss for hours and not worry about the world outside. “Okay,” Steve says, nodding his head. “You’re right, Buck. We ain’t in the clear, yet, but that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about--”

And then, all hell breaks loose. 

Steve’s front door is thrown wide open, and Clint, Nat, and Sam pour inside in full tac gear, guns raised and aimed at Bucky. “James Buchanan Barnes, put your hands in the air!” 

“No!” Steve screams, panic flooding his body. _ No, no, no-- _ this wasn’t part of the plan, what the hell were they _ doing? _ They had agreed the plan was to _ take Bucky peacefully-- _

Bucky snaps. 

Steve sees it, knows what is happening the second Bucky’s face falls. 

The Bucky that had been remembering disappears, and the Winter Soldier takes his place. Bucky jumps to his feet and bares his teeth at Steve’s friends, growling something out in Russian. 

Within seconds, he’s got a large gun in one hand and a knife in the other, pointed at Natasha, who stands in front of the small triangle the Avengers had formed in Steve’s living room. It all happens so fast, it leaves Steve’s head spinning. 

“Shit,” Steve curses, jumping up to his feet. His heart hammers loud in his chest and blood rushes in his ears. He tries desperately to fight for calm--he couldn’t let his anxiety get the best of him right now, but he keeps seeing how terribly this could play out. “What the hell are you guys doing here? We had a plan, dammit--”

“He’d been in the apartment for 40 minutes, and you weren’t answering your cell phone,” Clint snaps. He doesn’t lower his weapon. “We didn’t hear you talking. We got worried.”

Forty minutes? But he’d only just woken up to talk to Bucky. Unless--unless Bucky had been in his apartment, scoping things out and watching over Steve for a while before he actually made a sound loud enough to rouse him. 

“I was _ sleeping,” _Steve cries, his hands balling up into fists. “Guys--put your guns down, we can just talk about this--” 

“Останься,” Bucky hisses, and gets in front of Steve, shielding the smaller man with his body. “Ты не сделаешь ему больно.” 

Natasha squints at Bucky. “We’re not going to hurt him,” She replies in English. “You’re the threat here Barnes, not us, and you know that. _ You _ are the dangerous one. Step away from Steve.” 

“Nat,” Steve says warningly, something dark coming out in his voice. Steve's fingers clutch onto the back of Bucky's sweatshirt out of instinct. Bucky doesn't react. “Guys. Do _ not _do this.”

Sam takes a step closer, and Steve sees Bucky tense in response. “Steve,” Sam says in a low voice. “Slowly walk towards us.”

Steve's fingers tighten around Bucky's sweater. He didn't want there to be any more space between them. He wouldn't let go. 

“Стоп.” Bucky warns, clicking the safety of the gun to _ off. _

Steve swallows, begging Sam with his eyes to respect the desperateness of the situation. 

“_Please,” _Steve begs, his eyes wild. HE can barely hear his own voice over the ringing in his ears. “Everyone, just drop the weapons. We can figure this out.” 

Bucky takes a small step backwards, until his back is pressed against Steve’s front. His hand holding the knife holsters it and snakes around to press Steve against him. When he feels Steve’s body against his, something about his posture relaxes slightly.

_ He was protecting Steve. _

Unlike before, when Bucky had used Steve as leverage to get away, Bucky was putting himself between three armed and highly trained Avengers in order to protect Steve--_ that _was his priority, and that was why he was so concerned about three superheroes pointing weapons in their direction--not for his own sake, but for _Steve’s._

Steve knew Bucky wasn’t all there, because if he was he’d be able to speak English, he’d be able to realize that these were Steve’s friends, people he knew and who would never hurt Steve. His adrenaline was running high and he’d snapped back into old habits. 

And even still, even though Bucky wasn’t speaking English or fully processing the situation, he wanted Steve to be safe.

“Don’t hurt him,” Sam spits at Bucky, gun raised. There is a high pitch of panic in Sam's tone, and written clearly on his face. “Or I’ll fucking kill you, man, I swear. Give us Steve and we can talk this out, like civilized people. No one wants to see him hurt. _No one_ has to get hurt tonight, alright?” 

“_Sam,” _Steve says desperately, stepping out from behind Bucky to glare at his friends. “P-Please. Let’s just, everyone, calm down, okay? Bucky, Buck--these are my friends, okay? Th-They won’t hurt me.” 

Bucky acts as if Steve hadn’t spoken. With an annoyed glare, Bucky pushes Steve back behind him, tucking the blond behind his back easily and adjusting his body to shield him better. His finger twitched on the trigger, like he’s itching to pull it. 

“Steve, he’s unstable. You gotta get away.” Clint warns quickly. 

And then Clint draws his arrow back, aiming for Bucky’s chest. 

Bucky notes the slight movement, the adjustment in Clint’s posture, the giveaways that he was about to take aim. 

He shoves Steve to the ground in an effort to keep him out of harm’s way, an act that his friends take as aggression. 

“No! Steve!” Clint yells. 

Clint shoots.

Steve hears the whiz of the arrow, but when he opens his eyes again, he sees it clutched in Bucky’s metal hand. He snaps the arrow and throws it away. 

“_Stop!_” Steve screams, terror gripping his whole body. He was going to see someone he loved get hurt tonight. Someone was going to bleed.

“Steve!” Sam yells, taking three quick steps towards Bucky, likely in the hopes of getting to Steve and getting him somewhere safe, but Bucky yells something in Russian and shoots Sam twice in the abdomen. 

Sam falls to the ground hard. 

“_Sam!__” _Steve cries, scrambling to get to his feet, his vision blurring with tears and panic. “No, Sam, no--”

He tries to rush to where Sam is, but a strong arm snakes around his waist and tugs him away, plucking him from the ground as if he weighed nothing at all. 

He struggles hard, but he’s no match for the brute strength of his captor. “_Let me go_!” Steve screams, biting and kicking for all its worth. Sam's body doesn't move. “Sam!” 

He gets no leeway in the vice-like grip, and he is left with the image of Sam bleeding on his living room floor as Bucky gathers Steve up into his arms and heads for the fire escape while Nat fires after him. 

“We will find you, Soldier,” Natasha promises calmly, as Bucky tightens his grip on Steve. "And if you hurt him you will bleed for it!"

Bucky grunts a few times in pain, and Steve assumes it means the bullets connect. He doesn't loosen his grip on Steve, though, or slow down in his pursuit of escape. 

“_Steve!” _Clint shouts after him. “Dammit!” 

Arrows whiz by their ears, but Bucky ducks in time and slides out the window, disappearing into the night. 

Maybe it was from the shock, or the panic of seeing Sam fall to the ground like that, but everything goes black, and with a broken gasp, Steve falls limp in Bucky’s grasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Concerns?  
thanks for sticking with me so far :) We're getting there, I promise!!
> 
> Translations:  
Ты не сделаешь ему больно = You will not hurt him  
Оставаться = Stay/stop
> 
> возлюбленная = beloved/sweetheart/darling


	13. Someday soon these worries roll on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want so badly to remember you,” Bucky whispers, barely audible. “I don’t know if I ever will.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We bout to get sad AND steamy.........

_ "Sometimes the weight of decisions, will try to bury you  
Don't let the shame tell you something that you know ain't true  
Just 'cause you feel like a stranger, that don't mean you are  
God I could use a reminder, of what forgiveness is for." _

\- Someday Soon, Wilder Woods

* * *

When Steve wakes up, it’s muffled grunting that draws him out of sleep. 

He opens his eyes slowly at first, unsure of his surroundings. He’s tucked tightly into a bed he didn’t recognize, in a room he was sure he’d never been in before. 

It’s still dark outside, and the lights are off in the room, save for a lamp beside the bed casting a dim glow. It couldn’t have been that long ago that he was in his own apartment, maybe a few hours, tops.

The walls were an unfamiliar mustard colour, the lace curtains were probably once white but were now an off-white cream hue from years of neglect, and there was shag carpeting on the floor. Steve had no idea where the hell he was.

Rubbing his eyes, the last few hours comes rushing back. 

Bucky grabbing him, guns drawn, Sam hitting the floor. Clint’s voice calling out after him. Darkness. 

_ Shit. Shit, shit shit. _Sam. Was Sam okay? Steve pats his pockets desperately in search of his phone, but Bucky must have taken it. 

Where _ was _ Bucky? He’d been in a bad place when he’d snatched Steve and fled--had he calmed down since? 

Glancing around the small room, Steve takes in his surroundings with more care. _Think, _he tells himself. _Figure it out. _

There was double bed that Steve was currently occupying, a TV and a couch, and a stationary pad labelled _ Fireside Inn. _

A motel, then. Steve was unfamiliar with the name, but that didn’t mean they were too far out of the city. 

Quietly, so quietly he barely made a sound, Steve slides out of bed and rushes to the door that would lead him out into the parking lot. He had to make sure Sam was okay. He _ had _to. 

“No,” Bucky snaps, appearing out of seemingly nowhere to block Steve’s path with his chest. “Not yet.”

Steve’s mouth goes dry, as he blinks up at Bucky, startled.

Bucky looks terrible, his face is damp with sweat, his long hair is hanging limp in his eyes, and he’s as pale as Steve has ever seen him. He’s shirtless, Steve notices belatedly, and the bulk of him seems impossibly larger now that Steve was face to face with it. His olive skin was a pale-grey and covered in blood in certain spots. _Bullet wounds._

And...where the metal arm joined his flesh and blood shoulder, there was angry, pink scar tissue that puckered around the metal plate, as if Bucky’s body had been trying to reject the alien piece but had since given up, healed over in a begrudging sort of manner. 

“B-Buck,” Steve stammers, forcing himself to meet Bucky’s eyes. His heart was still hammering unevenly from the surprise. “You’re hurt.” 

He had to figure out where Bucky’s head was. If he was in the same panicked state as when he fled the apartment, Steve would have to tread carefully. Maybe though, if he could talk to Bucky, he could calm him down enough to convince him to let Steve go. Or, even better, Steve could have the conversation he never got the chance to, the one he’d been trying to start when his friends had so rudely busted in.

He understood, on some level, _ why _ they did it. From their perspective, Steve had been silent the entire time the Winter Soldier was in his apartment, prowling around. He wasn’t answering any texts, or calls. For all they know, Bucky could have been choking the life out of him. They didn’t have the same inherent trust of Bucky that Steve did. 

Still, though. He hoped that things weren’t completely lost, that he could find time to talk to Bucky and make him see that this was the best option. 

Steve needed to get in touch with Sam--make sure he was okay. He needed his phone.

He also knew Natasha and Clint, and he knew they’d be hunting Bucky’s trail like dogs, fearing the worst for Steve’s life. 

If he could just send them a message to let them know he’s okay, then he could ease their minds. 

He didn’t want another show down like the one in his apartment. He could warn his friends and tell them not to look for him, that he’d find a way back safely without anyone needing to get hurt. 

Steve's head hurt from all the buzzing. He forces himself to take a deep breath and focus. 

Priority number one was calming Bucky down, and he looked like he was in a lot of pain. 

“I’m fine.” Bucky didn’t look the same dead-eyed way that he usually did when he was deep in the headspace of the Winter Soldier. He looked mildly annoyed by Steve’s presence, and _ that _was very Bucky of him, so Steve knew he was on solid ground and could push if he wanted to. Bucky wouldn’t push back in the ways that counted. 

“No. You’re not fine,” Steve snaps, not trying to hide his annoyance. Steve’s heart was fragile, he had ailment upon ailment and he couldn’t _ take _this constant worry. Not only did his best friend get shot right in front of him, but his once-boyfriend-now-captor was sporting a few bullet wounds of himself. 

The wounds also meant that Bucky _ wasn’t _wearing kevlar under his clothing last night. He’d trusted Steve enough to let his guard down in that tiny way, (which Steve knew wasn’t so tiny for Bucky) and Steve had betrayed him. He hadn’t kept him safe.

Steve reaches a hand to probe one of the wounds, just barely touching it, trying to sense how deep it was. 

Bucky’s flesh fingers constrict around Steve’s wrist, not tightly, but firm enough to stop Steve’s exploring. He'd noticed that Bucky doesn't touch him with his metal hand if he can help it. 

“Don’t,” He murmurs softly. His eyes flashed with pain and with a warning, not to kick the wounded dog because he might lash out. “Please.” 

Steve sticks up chin proudly, unrelenting and unafraid. 

If last night had confirmed anything, it confirmed to Steve that Bucky would not hurt him. Even when Bucky snapped and lashed out at his friends, his instinct was to protect Steve, even at the cost of his own life. Steve had nothing to be afraid of when it came to Bucky. 

“I can help you. I’ve performed first aid on Sam lots of times, and this doesn’t look deep. I can do it.”

“No.” 

“You don’t trust me?” Steve challenges. 

Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Do _ you _ trust _ me?” _

Steve folds his arms over his chest. “Yes.” He says, with total conviction. Bucky’s face twitches at that, like he doesn’t believe Steve. “If you don’t fix yourself up properly, you’re going to get an infection, and then sepsis, and then you’re going to die, all because you are too damn stubborn to let help you. Is that what you want?” 

Bucky eyes him wearily. His annoyed face is becoming more apparent the longer Steve stares him down with his arms crossed over his skinny chest.

“I’m fine. I can do it myself.” 

Steve would have to work a new angle. “If you’re occupied stitching yourself up, then it gives me ample opportunity to sneak out.” 

Bucky looks amused by the threat, pursing his lips at Steve. “I could just tie you up.” 

Steve rolls his eyes, not threatened in the slightest. “You wouldn’t do that.” 

“It’s a very effective way if incapacitating hostages,” Bucky argues flatly. “So. Yes, I would.” 

“Is that what I am?” Steve snorts, brows raised. “Your hostage?”

Bucky’s jaw tightens and his mouth opens again, then closes. Finally, he breathes out loudly through his nostrils and says, “No. You’re not. But you can’t leave.” 

“Sounds like a hostage to me,” Steve says, but then he gives Bucky a toothy grin. “S’okay, I don’t mind. There are worse people to be captured by.” 

“I’m not sure that’s true,” Bucky murmurs, looking down at his metal hand. He tucks it into a fist and then looks back up at Steve. “I inspected you for wounds, and you looked okay, but are you in pain anywhere? I caught you when you fainted but--”

“Buck, I’m fine. I’m anemic, I pass out like, once a week or something, it’s no biggie. You have literal _bullets_ in your body.” 

“Not the first time,” Bucky shrugs, unbothered. “Won’t be the last. So you aren’t in pain?”

“Fucking _ no, _I’m not in pain, you big lug. Just let me _help_ you.” 

Bucky looks like he might say no again, but he just stares up at the ceiling as if asking for strength from God himself to deal with the little blond brat he had acquired. It was a very _ Bucky _ mannerism. Steve tries not to revel or bask in it. 

“Fine.” 

Steve smiles, pleased with himself, and follows Bucky when he turns to retreat back to the bathroom. 

The bathroom is simple, but clean, which Steve is thankful for. It smells like bleach. 

Bucky’s got an array of instruments laid out of the counter, from cotton swabs to rubbing alcohol to peroxide and needles. He really is prepared.

“Impressive,” Steve comments, as Bucky sits down on the counter, but in reality, something about the methodical way he'd laid things out disturbed Steve. He realizes that Bucky had done this many times--his body had taken many wounds, and he'd had no one but himself to clean them up. 

“Necessary, in my...line of work.” 

“Guess you’re unemployed now though, huh?” Steve grins, fighting the uneasy feeling. 

Bucky looks surprised by the humour, but he returns the smile in kind. It’s _ stunning. _

“Guess so,” Bucky admits. He seems excited at the prospect, a new light shimmering in his pale blue-grey eyes. 

Steve washes his hands with soap and water and then slaps some gloves on from the first aid kit. 

He takes the peroxide on a cotton pad and presses it to Bucky’s wounds gently. 

“This is going to hurt,” He says apologetically. 

But Bucky doesn’t even wince, just sits stone-faced while Steve works. “You don’t have to be so gentle,” He interrupts softly, staring straight ahead. “I’m used to this. I can take it.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“I hardly feel it anymore.” 

Steve’s heart breaks a little, at that. “Well, too bad. I’m going to be gentle and you’re going to put up with it.” 

“The Asset does not deserve to be treated gently. The Asset is a machine.” Bucky says under his breath to himself, so quietly that Steve almost doesn’t hear him.

Steve bites down hard on his own lip so he doesn’t scream something about burning every Hydra operative and base down to the ground, and stomping on the graves of anyone who uttered such terrible things to Bucky. 

“You, _Bucky Barnes_,” Steve says through his teeth, forcing his touch to remain light despite the surge of adrenaline and protective rage he felt. “Deserve to be treated gently.”

Bucky won’t give up. “I’ve had surgery without anesthetic. Patching up a few bullet wounds is nothing. We can't stay here long. If you let me do it, I can have it done in--”

“_Bucky,” _ Steve snaps, a righteous anger bubbling up in him. “When people are hurt, they deserve to be treated with compassion and kindness. You deserve to be treated _ gently, _ and so that is what I’m gonna fuckin’ do, and honestly I don’t care if you don’t fuckin’ like it or you think it’s a waste of time, because you _ deserve _it, and it’s what you would do for me, so suck it up and shut up about it.” 

Bucky eyes him, looking a little taken aback. “Stubborn,” He mutters to himself, and Steve takes a steadying breath and gets back to work, annoyed. 

Bucky was used to his body being treated like a machine; wash, rinse, repeat. Locate the problem, fix the problem, make the Soldier battle-ready, as quickly as possible. No one had ever played with his hair or held his hand or hugged him close just because he wanted them to. 

He must be starved for touch, really, if Steve thought about. Even he himself gets eager for friendly touch when he goes a long time without it--but he comes by easily. Sam was affectionate, he’d hold Steve’s hand or hug him close or run his hands lazily through Steve’s hair, and it was easy. It was the basic human connection that everyone needed.

As Steve reaches for the tweezers, he places a gentle hand on Bucky’s thigh, rubbing his leg reassuringly. Comfort. Touch. 

He can feel the muscle jump under his skin, but Bucky doesn’t ask him to stop or pull away, so Steve counts it as a win.

They sit in silence. Bucky doesn’t grunt or even wince in pain as Steve digs out two bullets and sets them aside, or when he gets to work stitching up the wounds again. He just sits, perfectly still, and takes all the pain. He doesn’t once remind Steve to be careful or walk him through it, even when Steve is clumsy. 

He just...trusts Steve. And it annoys the _ hell _out of him. 

“You could stand to be a little more worried about your own welfare,” He snaps, as he ties off the last stitch. 

Bucky squints. Steve doesn’t fail to notice that when he does that, he looks like a confused toddler. “In what way?” 

“Well, I could have easily messed up over here and--I dunno, cut an artery or something, or made your wound even worse, and you’re just...letting me.” 

Bucky lets his shoulders rise and fall, and doesn’t seem tender in the way he moves after. Steve snaps off his gloves and washes his hands again. “You knew what you were doing. If you were doing something alarming, I’d have spoken up.” 

Steve didn’t know if Bucky would or not. But it didn’t matter anymore, Steve supposed. 

He turns to the shower behind him and dials the knob on _ hot. _Then he grabs the hotel soap and lathers it up a little in his hands, so that the fragrant scent of lemongrass filled the bathroom, rather than the stench of blood and bleach. He sets the soap down again and dries his hands off. 

“You gonna take a shower?” Bucky asks flatly. Steve notices his Brooklyn accent coming out a little more.

“No,” Steve sticks up his chin. “_You _are. You stink, and you’re dirty, and humans take showers when we want to feel more human, so. Clean up, and take your time. The hot water is good for sore muscles.” He pauses, thinking again about Bucky not having friendly-touch. “And then, if you’ll let me, I’ll brush your hair out for you, really gently so it won’t hurt a bit.” 

Bucky looks at him with soft eyes, then, as soft as Steve’s ever seen them, his lips slightly parted like he can’t believe the words coming from Steve’s mouth. 

“Well?” Steve prompted, waving in in the direction of the shower. “You going, or what? No offence, big guy, but you reek somethin’ awful.” 

“Yeah, I’m going,” Bucky grumbles. He slides off the counter and looks like he’s about to strip to get in the shower as Steve heads out, but his soft voice saying, “Wait,” makes Steve pause. 

He looks over his shoulder to see Bucky puffing his chest out a bit, as if preparing for an argument. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t leave,” Steve promises, meaning it. If he left now, it would only prove to Bucky that Steve didn’t trust him, and he didn’t want to take any strides backwards. He would talk to Bucky once he got out of the shower and they’d come up with a plan together. If Steve viewed Bucky as his captor, then Bucky would act like it. As his Ma always said, _ trust is a two way street, _and if he wanted Bucky to trust him, he’d start by trusting Bucky. 

Bucky eyes him wearily, like he doesn’t fully trust that Steve won’t. “And you won’t call your friends?”

“You have my cell.” 

Bucky looks guilty. “I didn’t want you to call them.” 

Steve’s face softens. “I know, Buck. I won’t look for my cell phone, and I won’t use any other phone to call them.”

“But why?” Bucky presses. “Aren’t you angry I took your phone?”

“Nah. I get why you did it. I know you still have it, somewhere. I’ve got pictures and voicemails on there that I don’t want to lose--from my Ma--” 

Bucky nods once, confirming. “I remember.” 

Steve feels like he’s won something big by that admittance--Bucky remembered. “So I won’t call. If I do, they’ll just trace the number,” Steve shrugs. “And I know you don’t want to be found just yet..and I _don't _want a repeat of what happened at my apartment. So no, I won’t.” 

Bucky hesitates a little longer, looking terribly adorable and shy. “...And you’ll brush my hair?” 

Steve has to smile at that. “Yeah, Buck. I will. Now go clean up. I’ll just be out here watchin’ TV.”

Bucky looks pleased as he shuts the bathroom door behind Steve. A few moments later, Steve hears clothes drop and Bucky’s bulk stepping into the shower. 

Steve could lie. He could go back on his promise and run, right now, out the motel doors and into the nearest place with a phone. A gas station, maybe. Call his friends, get them to pick him up, tell him if Sam is okay. They’d come get him, things would be okay.

But Steve couldn’t do that, because Bucky needed his patience right now, and Steve needed Bucky’s presence. 

Even knowing how messed up their situation was right now, not knowing where they were or if Sam was okay or anything at all, Steve didn’t want to leave Bucky’s side. 

He was seeing more and more of his ghost in Bucky the more time they spent together, and there was something in Bucky’s eyes that told Steve he was remembering more all the time.

Bucky isn’t long in the shower, just over 15 minutes. While Steve waits, he flips idly through TV channels, not finding anything he was too invested in watching. His mind too active to settle on just anything.

When Bucky comes out, he’s got a towel draped dangerously low on his hips, and water running down his chest in fast droplets. His hair hangs wet around his face, but he looks...good. 

So good it makes Steve stare, wide eyed, lips parted. 

The muscles in his chest, in his arms, the strength in his body and the shyness of his eyes--even the scar tissues around his shoulder where is metal arm joined his body was beautiful, in a twisted way, simply because it was part of him. 

For the first time in a while, Steve’s fingers itched for his pencils and his sketchbook. 

“You’re here.” Bucky says, looking surprised to see Steve sitting on the edge of the bed. 

Reluctantly, Steve tears his eyes away from Bucky’s torso and back up to his eyes, blushing a little. “Told you I would be, didn’t I?” 

Bucky opens his mouth, then closes it again. “Ace,” He says softly, and Steve’s heart shudders at the nickname. It had been _ so long. _ His knees felt weak. “Steve, I--”

Steve gets to his feet. He’s not sure why, but he feels something coming, something he wants to be standing for. He braces himself.

“Buck,” He breathes. Bucky looks like he might cry. “Buck, whatever it is, it’s okay--”

Bucky rushes at him then, and Steve should duck, should cower, cover his face with his hands or something, _ something, _because the way Bucky was stalking towards him was so purposeful and so confident that there was no way in hell he was on his way towards Steve to do anything other than punch him out. 

But when Bucky reaches Steve, he doesn’t punch him. He doesn’t hurt him at all. 

Instead, he crashes his body into Steves at what feels like a crushing intensity, but was probably a result of Bucky being extra gentle. 

The dampness of his body and hair seeps through Steve’s shirt as Bucky’s arms wrap around him, one arm around his waist and the other cradling the back of Steve’s head, holding him close and pressing Steve’s nose in to Bucky’s neck. It smelled very _ Bucky _ in there, even though it should smell like hotel soap and shampoo, Steve still recognized it at _ him. _Vanilla and musk and home. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt your friends,” Bucky sobs into Steve’s hair, his huge body wracked with the force of it. His shoulders shake violently in Steve’s clutch. Bucky is bent at quite the angle, because of their height difference, hunched over enough so that he can presses his face into Steve’s hair. “I--I--I--” 

“Hey,” Steve says, clinging to Bucky for all its worth. Steve feels his own eyes burning with tears just from hearing Bucky cry so openly, letting Steve see him so vulnerable, but he sucks them back. This wasn’t about him. “I know, Buck, c’mon. Of course I know that. You were just trying to protect me, weren’t you?” 

“S-Startled me,” Bucky says, through gasping sobs. His hands are painfully tight on Steve, as if he was afraid of the blond being physically ripped away from him. “S-Snapped back into _ p-programming. _ Mission imperative was to protect y-you. I was trying to p-protect you, but. I h- _ hurt _your friends and--”

“I’m sure Sam’s okay, Buck,” Steve said, half for his own sake and half for Bucky’s. Sam was wearing kevlar, he was in full tac gear. He _ had _to be okay. “I know you weren’t yourself. You were just trying to keep me safe. And you did, I’m safe. I’m right here, and we’re both okay. I’m not mad, Bucky. I could never be mad at you.” 

“Please don’t be afraid of me,” Bucky whispered into his hair. “God, Steve, _ please, _don’t be afraid of me--”

“I’m not,” Steve whispered fiercely, meaning each word. He holds Bucky as tight as he can, so hard his arms ache from the force of it. Maybe if he held Bucky tight enough, he could protect him from every ugly thing Bucky ever suffered. “I’m not afraid of you. I know you’d never hurt me. I just want you to be okay.” 

“I’m not,” Bucky whispers, starting to get his hysterical crying under control. “--I don’t even remember you.” 

Steve’s heart sinks. 

“That’s not true,” Steve mumbles. “You remember some things, here and there, you said. Remember? You know me enough to know you don’t want to hurt me.” 

“I know that isn’t enough for you,” Bucky rasps. He tries to pull away but Steve’s hands tighten and Bucky doesn’t move any further. “You need more from me.” 

“No,” Steve says sharply, shaking his head from where it was tucked into Bucky’s neck. He pulls back a little, enough to look Bucky in the eye. “No, Buck. I need whatever you can give me. If thats meeting up for coffee once a week, then that’s what I need.” 

Bucky’s eyes are red rimmed and wet. “But--”

“_No,” _ Steve says again, hugging his arms tighter around Bucky. “I’ll always _ love _ you, Buck. Always, as long as my fuckin’ heart beats, ‘cause I just can’t really _ help _ it. But that doesn’t mean that I need you to love me, too. I don’t.” He combs his fingers through Bucky’s hair gently, careful to undo any knots or tangles he comes across. He works to let the anger seep out of him, and lets his voice be softer. “I just need you to be _ okay. _Happy. And I’d like to be able to witness that happiness every now and then. Maybe even be the reason for it, sometimes. But that’s it. If you can’t give me that much, then we’ll find something that works. You got me, for life if you want, however I can have you. ‘Till the end of the line.” 

“I want so badly to remember you,” Bucky whispers, barely audible. “I don’t know if I ever will.” 

“Doesn’t change anything,” Steve half-lies. It would change things, just not the way Steve _ feels. _Nothing could ever be helped about the way Steve’s heart thumped for Bucky alone. He was ruined for life. “End of the line ain’t conditional, pal.” 

Steve hears Bucky swallow. He hesitates a little before saying, “We had something special.” It’s not a question, but the past tense makes a single tear slip out of Steve’s eye. He wipes it away quickly before Bucky notices. 

“Yeah, Buck. Sure did,” Steve whispers. He pulls away a little, and reaches for the dog tags around his neck. “That reminds me--you should have these back, now. They’re yours, after all.” He holds them out to Bucky. 

Bucky takes them slowly, rubbing his thumb over the engravings. _ James Buchanan Barnes. _

“I gave them to you. As a gift,” Bucky tells him gently, and slides them back over Steve’s head. He pauses, blinking fast as if caught in a day dream, and then he snaps out of it, clearing his throat. “I remember...telling you to find them. And bein’ worried that you were going to get hurt, when you did.” 

“See? You are remembering,” Steve chuckles a little, exhilarated that even that small memory was back. Even more of Bucky’s Brooklyn accent was coming back, the more time he spent around Steve. “I like having a piece of you with me.” 

“It looks good on you.” Bucky doesn’t look uncomfortable or awkward when he says the words, just genuine. He offers Steve a slow, building smile that made Steve want to jump his bones right there.

“Oh, stop,” Steve snorts. “You’re just tryin’ to flatter me so I don’t run away. Stockholm syndrome ain’t gonna work on me.” 

“No,” Bucky rolls his eyes. It’s very _ him. _“M’serious. Everything looks good on you, Ace.” 

“Stop flirtin’ with me,” Steve teases lightly, going to sit on the couch. Their interaction feels normal, like exactly the kind of conversation he and ghost Bucky would have had. Steve feels at ease, pliant and content. 

Bucky blinks, looking startled. The moment breaks. “Oh, I…” 

“What?” 

He tilts his head like a confused puppy. “But I thought...we used to be…?” 

_ In love. That’s right, doll, we’re in love, _Bucky’s voice rings in Steve’s memories. He swallows with a dry mouth. 

“We were in love,” Steve echoes, feeling suddenly heartbroken, the lightness of the moment gone. “But, that doesn’t mean you gotta flirt with me just ‘cause you know that’s how we used to be. I told you--I’ll take you however I can get you. I don’t want you to act a certain way just ‘cause you think it’s what I want.”

Bucky’s frown deepens. “That’s not--”

“Anyway,” Steve clears his throat, needing a change in subject matter before he burst into tears. “C’mere and sit down, I’ll play with your hair a bit and we can talk, yeah?” 

Bucky looks vaguely annoyed, but Steve isn’t sure why. Before he can ask, Bucky grumbles, “Okay.” And comes to sit on the couch between Steve’s legs, still clad in nothing but a towel and looking not the least bit ashamed for it. 

Steve supposed if he were built like a brick shit-house, he wouldn’t be self conscious of his body, either. 

Or maybe, it was because Hydra had dehumanized his body so much that Bucky didn’t much care if he was naked or fully clothed. Steve pushes that thought to the very back of his mind. 

“You’re still wet, aren’t you cold?” Steve chastised, touching a droplet of water on Bucky’s left shoulder. Bucky hisses in air and jerks away from Steve’s touch sharply, and Steve freezes in place, his hand hovering above the scar tissue of Bucky’s left arm, his heart in his throat.

“S-Sorry, Buck, I didn’t mean to--”

“No,” Bucky clears his throat, and slowly, slowly settles back against the couch, pressing his body into Steve’s legs as way of apology. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“S’okay,” Steve breathes. “What happened?” 

“It’s just. Usually when someone touches that area, it’s. To repair the arm, or something equally as painful. Force of habit.” 

Steve can imagine, though he wishes he couldn’t, the roughness with which Bucky was handled during his time with Hydra. The arm especially, a point of trauma and loss, would sting with clinical touch. Bucky had been dehumanized for a lifetime.

But not anymore. Steve wouldn’t let it go on a second longer. He never wanted to see that emptiness in Bucky’s eyes again. 

“Can I...touch?” 

“The arm?” Bucky clarifies, sounding confused. Steve wishes he could see his face. “Uh.” 

“You,” Steve corrects softly. _ All of you. _“Your shoulder. _Your_ arm. You can say no.”

“I know that.”

“And I’ll stop anytime you want.” 

“I know that, too,” Bucky sounds like he’s maybe hiding a smile, or maybe rolling his eyes. Maybe both. “...You can touch. Just. Go slow, please.” 

Steve feels a thrill run through him. 

Gently, he leans around Bucky and takes his metal hand into his own, comparing the sizes between their palms. Steve’s hands were dwarfed by Bucky’s. 

The metal was cool, but not as cold as Steve may have guessed. As his fingertips travelled up Bucky’s hand, to his wrist, the metal got slightly warmer, perhaps from having more proximity to Bucky’s body heat. It was strange, to think of Bucky as running hot. He was so used to associating him with cold air, cold touch. 

As he dragged his fingertips up the arm, slowly, the plates shuddered and readjusted around him, whirring softly. It was mesmerizing, the way they interlocked and came apart again, the little fibres of them. 

“You’re beautiful,” Steve whispers, his voice breaking. 

“Hardly.” 

"You are,” Steve insists, his fingers gripping Bucky’s left arm a little harder. “Every part of you. You _ are.” _

He hears Bucky swallow, but he doesn’t protest again. 

Bucky’s breathing becomes more ragged as Steve’s fingers reach the top of his left arm, where it connects with Bucky’s shoulder. The scar tissue there is pink and raised, a delicate pattern going this way and that. Steve knows to be gentle, just barely touching Bucky’s skin, pressing with just his fingertips at first. 

When Bucky didn’t stop him, Steve prompts, “Is this okay?” 

“Yes,” Bucky breathes, sounding wrecked. “Yes, it’s...it’s good.” 

Steve nods, reassured, and slowly applies more pressure, feeling the way the raised skin differed from the rest of the smooth olive skin of Bucky’s body. Eventually, he presses his whole palm over the area, and rubs a slow, deep circle.

“Mm,” Bucky lets his head fall forward, body sagging. The trust in that move alone made Steve’s chest get tight. “That--feels real nice, Stevie.” 

_ Say it again, _ Steve wants to beg, _ call me that again. _But he doesn’t. Instead, he digs his thumb into the muscle a little more, rubbing out the knots he finds there. “Must get real sore,” Steve says softly. “You ever get a massage?” 

Bucky shakes his head gently. “Don’t want a stranger’s hands on me,” he mutters. “Makes me...anxious.” 

Steve can read between the lines. Bucky might not remember him, but he knew enough about Steve to trust him, to know that he wasn’t a stranger. _ Steve’s _hands were okay. 

“I can watch some videos,” Steve offers quietly. “I don’t have the strongest hands, but if I can learn a few techniques, maybe I can help a little. Probably hurts, huh? Lots of scar tissue and knots all over.” 

Bucky presses his cheek to Steve’s knee, nuzzling in with his nose. “Stevie,” He breathes out roughly. “Stevie,” 

“Yeah,” Steve smiles softly. Bucky denied remembering anything about him, but the nicknames came too easily--he had to be recalling their time together, if only just in pieces. “That is, if you plan on sticking around.” 

“...I don’t want to leave you,” Bucky admits to him, keeping his face pushed into Steve’s leg. 

Steve tenses. It’s not the reassurance he hoped for. Slowly, he starts combing his fingers through Bucky’s damp hair. 

“That doesn’t sound like you promising to stay,” Steve hedges carefully. 

“It’s complicated,” Bucky mutters, sounding guilty. “You know that.” 

Steve scratches at Bucky’s scalp, feeling Bucky melt into him. He won’t take his frustrations out on Bucky by withdrawing his touch, he can see how much Bucky needs a friendly touch right now.

“Haven’t you left me enough times in this life?” Steve asks, voice small. “Isn’t it your turn to stay?” 

Bucky wraps a hand around Steve’s calf, his fingers overlapping, but he doesn’t answer. 

“Buck,” Steve says. They had to talk about eventually, and now, with Bucky pliant in his arms, it might be the best time. “My friends are going to be looking for me.” 

Bucky stiffens a little. “I know.” 

Steve gently works a knot out of Bucky’s hair. “So...what’s the plan here, big guy?” 

Bucky says nothing.

“Staying on the run from them isn’t smart,” Steve explains. “When they last saw you, you shot their teammate and ran away with their asthmatic best friend in your arms. They’re going to be scouring the earth looking for us, if they haven’t already got an idea of where we are yet, they will soon.” 

“I know.” 

“So, obviously we should turn ourselves in. My friends, I can talk to them, and--and explain. If we come peacefully, I _ know _I can talk to them. We can make it right, and then you can come back to the apartment with me, and we can figure the rest out from there--”

Bucky rips out of his touch and gets to his feet. “What? No,” He says sharply. Steve sees his tightly coiled his muscles are, the outline of his body taut and on edge instantly. “I’m not going with them. I’ll drop you off at a remote location and you can text your friends where you are. They’ll come get you. You’ll be safe.” 

Bucky was planning on leaving him again, then. Steve’s mouth goes dry. 

“B-Buck,” Steve says, trying not to sound too desperate. “Just hold on--”

“I don’t want to be their puppet,” Bucky growls, storming off to his backpack that rested in the corner of the room. He yanks out black items and starts getting dressed with angry tugs of fabric, dark jeans and a black t shirt. 

“Where are you going?” Steve demanded, voice small. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should have kept his mouth shut. He was going to watch Bucky leave him _ again. _“We don’t have to go right now.” 

Bucky already has his boots on. “Yes, we do. You’re right--they’ll be after us. It was stupid to stay here even this long.” 

“Please,” He says, getting a cold chill all over his body at the thought of losing Bucky again. He looks up at Bucky with desperate eyes. “Think logically, here, Buck. _ Think _ about what we could have, if you trust me.” 

“It’s not _ you _ I don’t trust, Steve. If I go with the Avengers, best case, they lock me up, test me to see what kind of shit Hydra infused me with, and then put me on trial for all the people I’ve killed--including Tony Stark’s parents, by the way,” Bucky swallows, looking away. His hands are in tight fists by his side. “And then, if they don’t shoot me, they’ll lock me up in a glass cage and, if I’m _ lucky, _ maybe let you come see me once, twice a month, with supervision.” He meets Steve’s gaze with tormented eyes. “I can’t be locked up again, Steve. I can’t. I’d rather die.” 

Steve was a good listener.

He considers Bucky’s points carefully, and the probability of what he was saying. Bucky wasn’t being ridiculous--Tony Stark had a lot of pull with the Avengers, as he was technically the head of the initiative, and given that the Winter Soldier was responsible for him being an orphan and how adamant Natasha was that Tony didn’t find out about their plan to rescue Bucky, Steve was pretty sure it wouldn’t go over well. 

But there was still _ hope, _stupid, relentless hope, that Steve refused to let go of. If he did, what would they have, besides their two broken hearts and a dark road ahead?

“So, what? You drop me off, and go on the run...and that’s it? The end? I never see you again?” Steve gets to his feet, his desperation quickly igniting his temper. He was tired of being gentle with Bucky, clearly, it wasn’t working. His skull was apparently thicker now than it was when he was a ghost. “I’ve been lying awake, every night for over a month, Buck, just _ praying _that you would come home. And now that we’re finally together, I can’t stand to lose you.” 

“It’s not about you.” Bucky says sharply, and Steve swallows, because Bucky was right. This wasn’t about him, and he was making it about himself in a way he had no right to. Bucky, after a lifetime of capture and torture, was rightfully apprehensive about going into the custody of another organization. 

“You’re right.” Steve agrees. “You’re a big boy, you can make your own choices. But if you’re going to go on the run, then take me with you.” 

Bucky’s jaw drops like he can’t believe Steve would even suggest that. “You’re kidding.” 

“I’m completely serious. If it’s a choice between never seeing you again or living butt-fuck nowhere in Germany, then I’ll get on a plane with you right now.” 

“I’m not taking you on the run with me. You deserve better than the life of a fugitive.” 

“So do you,” Steve challenges. 

Bucky narrows his eyes, going on the defensive. “Listen, Steve--”

“No, _ you _ listen, you muckleheaded _ asshat,” _ Steve jabs an accusatory finger in Bucky’s pectoral. Bucky glares down at him, but Steve isn’t the least bit intimidated. Bucky’s _ murder-murder-stabby _face just looked like the equivalent of a golden retriever showing it’s teeth; cute and harmless. 

“I know I’m not an Avenger, or a Soviet spy, or-or anything remotely impressive. But if I’m looking you in the eye and telling you I _ will not let them hurt you, _ then I fuckin’ mean it, Buck. I will do whatever it _ takes _to tell the world that you have the best heart I’ve ever known.” 

Steve didn’t want Bucky to be locked up. He didn’t want Bucky to be forced into _ anything, _ ever again, but he knew that if Bucky _ didn’t _ come with them, Tony Stark would hunt him down, or Hydra would, and Steve would _ really _ lose him, for good. 

There were no good options, there was only the less bad ones. 

“I won’t be selfish with you,” Bucky says, his voice not at all matching the heat or volume of Steve’s. He looks suddenly young, and scared. “I can’t let myself be.” 

“I want you to be fuckin’ selfish for _ once _in your life, Bucky, for God’s sake!” 

“You deserve someone who--” 

Oh, that was fucking _ it. _Steve had absolutely had _enough_ of this martyr bullshit.

Steve takes two quick steps towards Bucky until their chests are pressed together. He stretches up onto his tip toes, grabs Bucky’s dumb face in both of his hands, and smashes their lips together. 

He didn’t want to hear any nonsense about what he _ deserved. _He deserved to have _this_\--Bucky, all to himself.

He deserved to kiss the man he loved. 

It starts with Steve kissing Bucky’s unresponsive lips. Steve is pretty sure Bucky is in shock, his entire body rigid, his eyes wide open, staring at Steve.

Determined, Steve strokes his hands through Bucky’s hair, and gets no reaction. He trails his hands around Bucky’s neck and presses their bodies together--and yet, still nothing. 

If Bucky wouldn’t respond to tenderness, then Steve would let his temper speak for itself. 

“Oh, for fuck sake, Barnes, _ do _ something. Kiss me or push me away or--” Frustrated with Bucky taking on the persona of Brick Wall, Steve runs his hands through Bucky’s hair again, and grabs a fistful of it, pulling it at the same time he bites down _ hard _ on Bucky’s bottom lip. 

Bucky finally comes alive. 

His lips instantly nip back at Steve’s, and with a low growl, his hands slide under Steve’s ass to lift him up so that Steve wouldn’t have to stretch up so far and Bucky wouldn’t have to bend down. 

Steve wraps his legs around Bucky’s hips enthusiastically, as Bucky spins him and presses him hard against the wall with a low growl.

It’s like a switch flipped in Bucky--the last time they kissed, it was passionate, but tender, something sad and sweet about it. This was a fight, battling for dominance as they nipped and pushed at each other, practically devouring each other. 

Steve winds his arms around Bucky’s neck and holds on, his legs tightening around Bucky’s hips, although Bucky didn’t seem to be struggling to hold on to Steve at all, keeping him up with ease. His hands squeeze Steve’s ass, and Steve let out a soft sound into Bucky’s mouth at the feeling. His whole body feels like it's on fire.

“Bucky,” He breathes between hungry kisses. “Oh, f-_ fuck--” _ Bucky uses his own hips to bracket Steve harder against the wall and _ rolls _his hips against Steve’s rubbing their erections together. When Steve feels Bucky’s hardness against him, his mouth waters with desire. “Please--”

That night, when Steve had wanted him _ so badly, _and Bucky was just a whisper of a person and couldn’t bite little marks down Steve’s neck like Bucky was doing now. Then, he couldn’t roll their hips together and make Steve moan like this. But now, everything Steve had wanted so badly was there, and he could tell by how enthusiastically Bucky was kissing him that he wanted it too. It seemed too good to be true, that Steve might actually get to have this. 

Steve had never had sex before. He’d sucked a dick, once, and that was an endeavor that had only lasted about half a minute, and it was years ago. He suddenly felt nervous. 

“You are such a--a little _ shit,” _ Bucky growled, rolling his hips mercilessly again. His New York accent was becoming thicker and thicker, and he sounded exactly like the grumpy ghost that Steve fell in love with. Steve’s thighs shake from how hard they’re gripping Bucky, and when Bucky uses his hands on Steve’s ass to grind Steve into him, Steve lets out a choked sob and digs his nails into Bucky’s back. “Such a fuckin’ _ brat.” _

“I know,” Steve gasps, scrambling to hold on to Bucky anywhere he can, pleasure turning his brain to mush. “I know, God, I know, Buck, just don’t stop--”

Bucky silences him with his mouth on Steve’s, and even though his body was rough and unforgiving against Steve’s own, Steve knew there was still a high level of control and care needed on Bucky’s part. With all of his strength, if he lost control, he could do some serious damage to Steve’s small frame.

One of Bucky’s hands leaves Steve’s ass and slides under his shirt, up Steve’s torso. The flesh and bone hand, rough with callous, thumbs at Steve’s nipple, gently at first, testing. 

When Steve arches eagerly into the touch, Bucky gains more confidence.

“Say my name,” Bucky begs, his eyes wide, pupils blown large. “Say it, Steve.” It was the same prompt that Bucky had whispered into Steve’s ear the night that Steve touched himself to Bucky’s filthy words, and he twitched hard against Bucky with the memory that they had made it full circle. Back then, Steve never imagined this was something they’d get to have. 

“Bucky,” Steve obliges breathlessly, like a religious man calling out for his God. “Bucky, _ Bucky, Bucky,” _ He was close, he was almost there, his toes curling as the pleasure builds, Bucky’s thrusts becoming more and more desperate, his hips powerful and merciless. Steve was going to have bruises on his spine from being pushed into the wall, but he didn’t care one bit--he _ wanted _ Bucky’s marks all over him. “God,” Steve gasps, nails digging in hard. “Bucky, Buck--jesus, I fucking _ love you--” _

_ No. _

Steve messed up. The moment seems to freeze, as the realization hits him. 

Everyone says things in the heat of the moment that they know, logically, should not have been said, even if they were true. 

It seems fine for a moment, they’re all over each other and Bucky is _ kissing _him, but the next, the heat of Bucky’s body is gone, Steve’s weight is on his own two feet, and Bucky has put four feet of distance between them, his hair mussed and wild and eyes wide in shock. 

Nothing he had said was news, Steve didn’t think. He had told Bucky--even this Bucky--that he loved him. But something about the way Bucky was looking at him now, horrified, really, made Steve think that something in him had broken at Steve’s words. 

“Bucky,” Steve says, panting for breath. “I’m sorry, just,” 

Bucky glances at the door. 

“Wait!” Steve says, reaching a hand out towards Bucky. “Don’t--”

But before Steve can even finish the sentence, Bucky is gone, the motel door slamming shut behind him hard enough to rattle the pictures on the wall. 

***

Steve sinks to the floor.

He thinks he’s crying, but he’s not sure. He feels numb, separated from his own body. This was just like his dream, when Bucky left him alone and sobbing and _ wanting _and wouldn’t give him what he so desperately needed. 

And now, not only did Bucky deny him, but he had left. He had looked horrified when Steve had said those stupid, _ stupid _ words--why would Steve _ say _that?--and now Steve was alone, with no cell phone, in a motel God knows where.

He should get up. He should find a phone, and call his friends, tell them to come get him. He should do something. He should breathe, probably. 

He tried to inhale, and his chest _ burned. _Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He didn’t have his inhaler. 

In their hasty get away, he didn’t exactly have time to pack an overnight bag. Steve didn’t even have shoes, he was wearing his compression socks that helped his circulation when Bucky grabbed him and headed out the window.

“Shit,” Steve wheezed. He glances desperately around the room, force of habit, when something white in Bucky’s back catches his eye. 

_ No fucking way. _

Steve rushes to it, and lets out a short little breath of celebration, grabbing the inhaler and pressing it to his lips. How Bucky grabbed it before they fled Steve didn’t know. It had been on the table beside the couch, sure, but everything happened so fast. How did Bucky even _ think _of something like that?

The medicine cools the fire in his chest, and Steve sinks down the wall to curl up very small, his head in his hands. 

Bucky was gone, and Steve was alone, with an inhaler and sweat pants and no goddamn shoes, and no goddamn cell phone. 

***

He goes outside in his socks. He runs around the parking lot like a mad person, shouting Bucky’s name. 

Bucky isn’t there--and if he is, he doesn’t answer Steve’s desperate cries. 

It makes everything clear, at least--

Bucky is not coming back. 

***

Twenty minutes later, Steve stands up on shaking legs and releases his bottom lip from the grasp of his teeth. He hadn’t eaten in a long time, he realizes belatedly. 

He should eat. 

He does not want to pass out. Again. 

Bucky’s things were still there, in that stupid fucking backpack. 

Steve didn’t think Bucky was coming back for them. Bucky was never coming back again. 

He dug around in the bag and found a black sweatshirt that smelled like Bucky. Shamefully, Steve shucks his old clothing and pulls it on over his head, burying his face in the smell and wiping his eyes in the sleeves. He doesn’t feel guilty for the little bit of snot that gets on the sleeve. 

Serves Bucky right.

There’s a few protein bars in there, too, and Steve takes two out and forces himself to eat them in slow, methodical bites. He swallows hard, and drinks a few mouthfuls of water from the tap, because _ self care. _

His cell is there, in the bottom of the bag. It’s dead, and he doesn’t have the charger. He puts it face down on the dresser and stares at it blankly, thinking nothing at all. He was numb.

Things would still be there in the morning, he tells himself. 

Bucky would still be gone, he would still be alone, but at least it would be bright outside. At least there would be that. Things were always easier to deal with in the morning time. 

So he pulls the hood over his head, and climbs into bed, burrowing deep under the covers and inhaling the scent of Bucky on the shirt. 

As if by sheer willpower alone, Steve forces himself to sleep. Maybe he'd find Bucky in his dreams.

***

Bucky is a bad person. The worst.

He had Steve--he _ had _him, just right there, ready for the taking, bitten red lips and pliant and needy for his touch, and Bucky had left.

When Steve said those words, Bucky just...froze. His mind took him somewhere far away, and then another, and another. 

It was a highlight reel of their greatest moments, he thinks, or something like that, anyway. His memories played behind his eyelids like a movie: Steve’s blue eyes, Steve dancing with him under the moonlight, Steve laughing so hard tea comes out of his nose. Steve’s soft voice telling him, _ I love you, _ and meaning it, meaning every syllable.

Bucky had panicked, he needed to crawl away and be somewhere alone where he could process the wall that had just broken down in his head, the memories that had flooded in in his place. And by doing so, he had _ fucked up. _

He wasn’t thinking about the present moment, and about the Present Steve, too caught up in the Past Steve that danced in his mind and beckoned him to _ come, learn more about me. _

That was about an hour and a half ago. 

Bucky had huddled behind the motel building, where he could still keep an eye on the room to make sure Steve didn’t leave nor any unwanted visitors stop by, and _ think. _Steve had shouted for him. He had looked for him. 

Bucky had not come out. He needed to _ think. _

Now, he remembered. Maybe not everything but he felt more _ him _than he had felt since first breaking Hydra programming. He remembered how Steve didn't like coffee but reached for a cup every so often anyways, that his mom's name was Sarah and she had the same kind eyes as her son. He remembered Steve reaching out for him in his sleep and he remembered the war, and Peggy. He remembered Hydra the first time, the second time--he remembered the cold promise of cryo and holding Steve for a few precious moments before being tugged away.

He needed to go back. He needed to fix things with Steve--Steve, the one Good Thing Bucky had to his name. 

He had hurt Steve, no doubt. He needed to go find out how badly. 

Coming in quietly and figuring Steve was asleep, Bucky opens the door and guiltily slides inside, feeling like more of a monster than he had in a long time.

Steve is curled up under the covers of the bed, looking impossibly small. He’s safe, and Bucky feels he can breathe a little easier for it.

Bucky’s relief turns to worry as he sees that Steve is thrashing around, tears in his eyes. 

“Bucky!” He yells, and Bucky freezes, thinking he’s woken up, but his eyes stay closed and his sobs wrack his body. He curls in tighter on himself. “Bucky--_ please, _I’m sorry, I’m so...don’t. Don’t go. Don’t go.”

Bucky’s stomach sunk. _ Stevie. _

Not taking the time to kick off his boots or shed his coat, Bucky slides into bed beside Steve, tugging him into the circle of his arms. Steve liked this, he remembered. Steve always wanted to be held. 

“Stevie,” Bucky says softly, “Hey, Stevie. Wake up, it’s me.”

Steve fights him, kicking and squirming. It doesn’t take much of Bucky’s strength to restrain him, but it still hurts that he’d resist so violently, even in sleep. 

“No,” Steve sobs, his eyes screwed shut, “No, you left, you _ left _ me _ again. _”

Bucky’s heart skips as he realizes that Steve was awake after all, and yet still resisting. “Stevie,” Bucky swallowed, regret pooling in his stomach. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have. I’m here now. I won’t leave you again.” 

“How can you say that,” Steve sobs, pushing hard at Bucky’s chest. “You don’t mean it, you’re going to leave me whenever it’s fucking convenient for you, you fuckin’ _ jerk--” _

“No,” Bucky says, cupping Steve’s head and pushing it against his chest, wrapping his leg around both of Steve’s and tugging him in, completely enveloping him and effectively stopping the struggle. “I’m here. See? I’m here, honey, and I remember. I remember us.” 

Steve goes completely still. “What?”

“My memories, of you. They all came back when you said that you loved me. It was...unnerving. I needed time to...process it.” He hesitates, “It was a big wave of memories. Lots to sort through.” He was still sorting. Even now, as he held Steve, he suddenly remembered Steve curling up in the empty shape of Bucky’s embrace, back when he had no arms to hold Steve, and singing to him, soft and sweet. He remembered Steve smiling in his sleep, content and safe and _ his. _

Steve is silent for a moment, contemplating this. Then he rears back, and knees Bucky right in the crown jewels, causing Bucky to grunt and buckle a little, though he doesn’t loosen his grip on Steve. 

“Asshole,” Steve says through clenched teeth, though he nuzzles a little closer to Bucky’s chest. “You should have just _ fucking _said that.” 

“I know,” Bucky wheezes, coughing a little. “I’m sorry, though, Stevie, really. I know...we were…” 

“Having...sexy time.” 

“--Yeah. And then I--”

“Abandoned me and made me feel like an idiot.”

“...Yeah.” Bucky swallows. He messed up.

“We _ really _need to work on your communication skills,” Steve sighs, but he sounds like the anger is dissipating. 

Bucky could admit that Steve was right on that one. “I know.” 

Steve goes quiet again. His voice is a little sadder, a little softer, when he asks, “You’re not going to leave me, are you?” 

Bucky squeezes him gently, but for Steve, it must nearly take the air from his lungs. “Not in this life. Not again.” 

When Bucky left Steve before, he was ripped away by Hydra. He couldn’t help where he was going or when, and he knew Steve didn’t really _ blame _him for those times, but he can imagine that seeing the man you loved torn away again and again would take a toll on someone. 

Bucky had been through a lot, it was true, but Steve had been through a lot, too. This whole ordeal has been hard on him, Bucky could tell. There were deep purple bags under his eyes and Bucky could feel the sharp poke of his ribs more than usual. He’d lost weight. 

“You’ll stay?” 

“For as long as you’ll have me.

Steve swallows. His tired eyes are red around the edges, but Bucky didn’t know if it was from crying or exhaustion--or perhaps a mix of both. “Will you hold me? While I sleep?” 

“Steve…” Bucky knows they shouldn’t stay here all night. It’s already been too long, and the longer they were idle, the more they became sitting ducks for the Avengers to hunt down. Everything that was _ The Soldier _in him screamed for them to get on the move and get somewhere safe. 

Steve tenses, bracing himself. “You’re right. We should move,” He says, already pushing himself up into a sitting position. “I’m new to this whole...fugitive thing. C’mon, let's go, Buck. We’ve been here for too long.” 

Bucky could see the exhaustion written all over Steve’s face, even through the stubborn set of his jaw that tried to deny it. 

Steve needed to rest, and Bucky couldn’t keep them away from the Avengers forever. He had to face the music, and he might as well let Steve get some sleep while he was waiting for his impending doom. 

Bucky had fought a lot of battles in his life, and he’d been trying to outrun his past for too long. He remembered now. He couldn’t feign ignorance any longer; he had to own up. If Bucky ever wanted to become the kind of man that could stand beside someone as pure as Steve Rogers and be anything close to his equal, this was how he had to start. With justice. 

Gently, Bucky uses a hand to push Steve back down onto the mattress. “Nah,” He says quietly, his mind made up. “We’ll be okay, Ace. Get some rest.”

They’d lock him up, that was certain, but perhaps if he went quietly and willingly they’d take him in carefully, let him see Steve. He’d work on being a better man.

Steve blinks up at him, those blue eyes more trusting than Bucky could ever deserve. “Are...you sure?” 

Steve is beautiful. It hits Bucky so hard he forgets how to breathe for a moment, but he _ is. _ Beautiful and strong and trusting-- _ too _trusting. 

Bucky wanted to be the man that earned that trust. The one that deserved it. 

Bucky nods once. “‘Course I’m sure. You could use some more shut eye. I’ll keep watch. You’ll be safe, doll.” 

“S’not my safety that I’m worried ‘bout,” Steve protests, but he sinks down willingly, exhaustion overcoming him, and presses the cold tip of his nose into Bucky’s neck. “Just a few more minutes then we’ll get on the move and find somewhere safe.” 

“Safe from the Avengers?” Bucky clarified. 

Steve stiffens a little, hesitating. “I...don’t think they’d hurt you on purpose,” Steve hedges. “But. I think you’re right, that they’d lock you up. And Tony Stark, he has a lot of pull with SHIELD and given that the Winter Soldier is the one who killed his parents…” 

“He’s not going to be my biggest fan.” 

“Yeah,” Steve snuffles, huddling in closer. “So let's stay away a while longer, then we can figure out a plan that will work for both of our hearts.” His cold hands press into Bucky’s chest. “I don’t want you to sacrifice anything for me.” 

Bucky feels those words right to his core--Steve had summed it up. Bucky didn’t want Steve to give up anything for _ him _either. “Yeah,” Bucky lies smoothly, pressing a chaste kiss to Steve’s temple, because he can. “It will all work out in the end.” 

“We’ll be Bonnie and Clyde,” Steve snorts.

“Mhm,” Bucky smiles softly, “Whatever you say.” 

Steve tries to say something else, but his exhaustion overcomes him and he lets out a large yawn.

“Sleep, doll,” Bucky urges, tugging him in a little closer to that he could feel the rise and fall of Steve’s chest. Steve likes it when he uses the pet names, Bucky knows, and they roll off his tongue too easily to be helped. It was second nature. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

“Hey--did you bring my inhaler?” Steve pipes up sleepily a few moments later. He yawns into Bucky’s neck again, and Bucky brushes Steve’s hair out of his face tenderly. 

Bucky blushes a little, embarrassed. He recalls Steve mocking him for being a ‘_mother hen’ _.

“I grabbed it quickly on the way out. Why? Are you having an attack--”

“Easy, big guy,” Steve snorts, cuddling in closer. He slides a leg over Bucky’s, and before Bucky knew it they were so tangled together he couldn’t tell where he started and Steve began. “You’re just cute, is all.” 

Bucky was a Grown Ass Man. More than that, he was a Grown Ass Soviet Assassin with...with _ knives. _ Sharp ones, that he knew how to use in multiple ways. He wasn’t _ cute. _ He shouldn’t _ like _ being called _ cute. _

But he did. He really, really did. 

“You’re cute,” He accuses in rebuttal, a few beats too late. Steve’s soft snore is his only answer.

Bucky hides his smile in Steve’s blond mop of hair. Despite what horrors the morning may bring, he feels _ light. _


	14. Meant to Stay Hid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve & Bucky run into some trouble while on the run. Steve tries to find a way to trust the Avengers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight TW for some violence, nothing too graphic!  
Thanks as always for your continued love & support <3 ya'll really are the BEST!!!

_If I wasn't so afraid_   
_I'd shine a light up to space_   
_Then my soul could be_   
_Strong enough to see your face_   
_One more day_

\- Meant to Stay Hid, SYML

* * *

Steve wakes up suddenly, a loud crash and the heavy thud of boots rousing him from his otherwise peaceful and much needed sleep. Spending a full night in Bucky's arms had been everything Steve had hoped--warm and safe, and so, so peaceful, tucked into Bucky's chest. 

He bolts up in bed, squinting as his eyes adjust to the motel room light being flicked on, dread already flooding his system before he could process what was happening. There was a sense of urgency that filled the room. 

It's still dark outside, but the room is lit up with fluorescent light a second later. Steve blinks fast, his vision going spotty from trying to adjust too quickly, his head a muddled mess of confusion and sleep. 

“Wha--” He mumbles, reaching to the side table and shoving his glasses onto his face. His heart sinks when his foggy mind clears enough to take in the scene before him.

Bucky is already on his feet in front of the bed, blocking most of Steve’s view with his body, but Steve sees Natasha’s red hair and Clint’s bow and arrow around the bulk of Bucky’s body, spilling into the room. 

_ No. _

So this was it, then--just when Steve had gathered enough strength to realize he didn’t _ want _Bucky to be forced to go with the Avengers, they had tracked him down.

Steve was going to lose him. 

Steve also notices with relief that Sam was there, in full gear, looking completely fine. He could at least be thankful for that--his friends were okay. They were just...pushy. 

“Shit,” He curses, scrambling to get to his feet. This situation felt eerily similar to the last confrontation they’d had, and that one hadn’t ended well. Steve, as the middle-man, had to get this situation under control, and quick. He forces his sleep-addled brain to snap into focus. “_No one shoot.” _

“Steve,” Bucky hisses, a warning, as Steve stands in front of him. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Same to you,” Steve grumbles. If they had just left last night when Bucky prompted, they’d be in the clear. But Bucky had wanted Steve to sleep. He always put Steve first, and now he was going to pay for it. Steve was going to _watch_ him pay for it. 

“Okay, everyone is going to listen to me right now.” Steve announces, his voice ringing with authority he was pretty sure he had no right to demand. “No one is going to get hurt--we all want the same things, here.”

“You’re compromised,” Natasha quips, not taking her gun or her eyes off of Bucky. “This doesn’t have to be messy, Steve. This is what you wanted. We’re just doing what we discussed.” 

“Things have changed,” Steve says, trying to meet her eyes. She doesn’t let him, staring Bucky down like she expects him to grab Steve and bolt at any moment. Given their track record, it was a fair expectation. Steve was half expecting it himself. 

“Unfortunately,” Natasha mutters, voice steely. “They really haven’t.” 

Steve looks to Sam and Clint for some understanding, but finds their faces just as resolved as Nat’s. Something had changed in their views since the last confrontation with Bucky. Perhaps seeing the Winter Soldier shoot their teammate and kidnap their best friend had made them less willing to see the good in Bucky. They must have spent the hours since their last confrontation searching, worried sick about Steve. 

Sam looked nervous, like he was itching to get Steve away from Bucky, itching to leave the room. His eyes dart constantly between Bucky and Steve. 

“I didn’t get a chance to talk to Buck about his options,” Steve protests, heart racing. He's going to lose this battle, and he knows it. They are outmanned, outgunned. “Can’t we just sit down and have a conversation?” 

“His options are coming with us, or getting shot,” Natasha deadpans. She cocks her gun, as if to accentuate her point. “Up to you, Barnes, A, or B.” 

“I’ll come,” Bucky says softly. "No need to shoot. S'close quarters in here," Bucky's gaze darts nervously to Steve, as if he didn't want any weapons being fired not for his _own _sake, but just in case a bullet happened to get Steve, by some odd twist of fate. 

It was so _Bucky _of him Steve wanted to scream. 

“No!” Steve cries. “Just--just everyone _ hold on.” _ He swallows, trying to get his thoughts in order. Bucky had said he’d rather die than be locked up, and now here he was just submitting? It didn’t make any sense. Steve _ knew _he didn’t want this. “Guys, we talked about this,” He argues. “You said--I could talk to him, about what to do next.” 

“That was before he _ shot _me,” Sam scoffs. Steve meets his eyes, desperate for someone to take his side in this, but Sam looks away, guilty. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Bucky pipes in softly. Sam doesn’t answer, but shoots Bucky a scathing glare. 

“You shot at him first,” Steve accuses, anger and fear rippling through him in equal parts. They were out-numbered, out-gunned. This could be it. “Clint fired the first round, and he was just protecting himself and me.” 

He is going to end up letting Bucky down in the only way that counted. 

“I promised I’d take Barnes into Avengers custody and then let the law do with him what it will,” Natasha says cooly. Her eyes show no forgiveness, and part of Steve hates her for it. “I told you that. I never pretended otherwise.”

Steve whips around to Bucky, who looks resigned to his fate, jaw tight, eyes clouded. 

He didn’t look like the Winter Soldier--no. This was purely Bucky, a Bucky who was completely aware of what was about to happen and had begrudgingly and nobly accepted his fate. His eyes flicker over to Steve only briefly. 

_ Run, _Steve mouths at Bucky, as a final hope. _Run, now. _

Steve didn’t want Bucky to be taken in. This whole time, it’s all he’d wanted, what he’d _hoped_ for, and now that it was here and facing them, he could see what a mistake that was. 

Bucky was right; they’d take him and lock him up and Steve wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. 

He’d lose Bucky all over again in the worst way. It would be entirely, and solely his fault. His mistake.

But Bucky just offers him a small, sad smile. “S’okay, sweetheart,” He says softly, voice quiet enough that it was a promise just for Steve’s ears. “It’s gonna be okay.”

It only makes Steve angrier. His hands curl into fists and his muscles coil, ready for a fight.

How _ dare _ Bucky comfort him? _ Him? _ Steve didn’t _ matter _right now. Bucky should be worried about himself, about the fate that awaited him at the hands of Stark and the government. 

“No,” Steve turns back around to his friends, eyes welling with tears of panic. “I don’t want this anymore. I’ve changed my mind.” 

“Steve,” Clint shakes his head. “Let’s just make this quick and painless. Barnes can come with us, and we’ll talk about the rest at HQ.”

“No. Let him go, please, just. Turn a blind eye, we can pretend like today never happened. I’ll come with you, I’ll never bring Bucky up again, just, don’t, _ please.” _But he could tell, looking at his friend’s faces, that he hadn’t changed their resolve. 

Regret. Regret and shame fill Steve from head to toe. This is all his _ fault. _He's the one who had asked for the help of his friends, and he was the one who wanted them to track Bucky down. 

And now that they had, this is what Steve had driven them to do.

Everything that Bucky was afraid of, everything he fought so hard against, was going to come true, and it was all. Steve’s. Fault.

He’d failed Bucky. 

“Steve,” Sam says quietly, begging him. He tucks his gun into its holster and takes a small step towards Steve and Bucky. “Please, just, come quietly. We’ll talk about this later. You need a medic--you look like you’re about to faint--have you eaten recently?” Sam shoots an accusatory look at Bucky, like it’s somehow his fault that Steve looks like shit and not his own shitty genes or lack of appetite recently. 

“Please,” Steve begs, his nails digging hard crescents into his palms. “I’ll never see him again. He’ll go somewhere far away, and-and live underground. Keep outta sight and outta trouble, won’t you Buck?” Bucky doesn’t answer. “I won’t ever see him, or talk to him, or--” Steve sobs, pausing to breathe. His chest is tight. "Just let him go. Please let him go. He's not a threat."

He feels like his ribs are caving in on himself. _ He _ did this, he put this nightmare in Bucky’s path. Bucky was going to be locked up and questioned and forced to relive the terrible things Hydra did to him, because of _ Steve. _All Bucky had ever done is love him. Protect him. Put him first. 

And when it came down to it, Steve couldn’t do the same. Could Bucky ever forgive him? 

He was losing everything, in that motel room--all of it, bits of his life, crumbling around him and getting lost in the shaggy carpet. His friends, his lover. His hope. 

Bucky would hate him for this. And rightly so. 

“Steve,” Bucky interrupts, voice worried and low. “Breathe.” 

Steve tries. He’s _ trying. _He can’t--he can’t breathe. “I will never f-_fucking_ forgive you,” Steve sobs, staring Natasha down, even as his hands clutch his throat, clawing at it as he wheezes for breath. “Never. Do you h-hear me?” he wheezes through his tears. 

“Don’t shoot,” Steve hears Bucky saying from behind him with a rushed breath. “I’m just going to get his inhaler.” 

“Don’t move, Soldier,” Natasha threatens smoothly, tightening her grip on his fun. “Where is it.” 

“Side table, closest to the window. By the lamp.” Bucky instructs, voice panicking. Steve can hear the annoyance in his tone, frustrated that he couldn’t get it himself and help Steve faster. “Steve, try to calm down.” Steve feels a brush of metal fingers against his elbow, but then Sam re positions his gun as a warning and Bucky retracts his touch after a moment of hesitation. 

“I’m f-fucking _ fine,” _Steve wheezes, coughing hard enough that he doubles over. He wasn’t fine, not even close--his chest was on fire and his throat was tight.

“You’re fine,” Bucky agrees, but his voice is tinted with worry. “Just focus on your breathing, Steve."

Steve opens his mouth to say _how can you say that when our whole world is falling apart?_ But a coughing fit takes over and his shoulders and ribs wrack with the force of it.

“B-Buck,” Steve wheezes, panicking. He wanted Bucky, Bucky’s hands on him, Bucky’s soothing voice. "Don't let them take y-you. Don't go." 

“I’m right here,” Bucky reassures him, and risks getting shot to take another step closer. Slowly, not to make any sudden movements, rubs his flesh hand in a slow circle against Steve’s back. It bumps over the ridges of Steve's spine. “Breathe.” 

“Step away from him,” Natasha growls, and Steve can tell from her tone that if Bucky decides not to, she’ll shoot him. 

Bucky hesitates again, but does, his fingers linger for a moment on Steve before the contact is gone completely.

“He needs his inhaler,” Bucky says flatly. “I can grab it--”

“Clint, get it,” Natasha instructs, but Steve is already there, grabbing the stupid fucking inhaler and taking deep breaths of the medication. 

The room is still and quiet as he does, everyone waiting to ensure he was okay. 

“He’s not going to fucking h-hurt me,” Steve accuses in a venomous tone, trying to calm down. “You’re the ones who are hurting me right now. _You’re_ the ones going back on your word.” 

“We’re not going back on anything,” Natasha swallows. Steve can see the worry in her face--she didn’t like witnessing Steve’s asthma attacks. They made her anxious--she didn’t have control over them, and she didn’t like that one bit. “No one is going to hurt Barnes. We just need to take him in, and then we can figure out a plan from there. Nothing we talked about is off the table.” 

The news did nothing to console Steve, even if it was just a little. He tucks his inhaler in his pocket. It would be a long road to recovery for Bucky, and really, didn’t he deserve to just live his life peacefully? Get a cat and drink lots of coffee and read all the books he’s missed out on for the past 80 years? 

Bucky shouldn’t have to rejoin the fight as an Avenger. He had fought his war. He’d done enough. 

He should get to rest. 

But somehow, Steve didn’t think the Avengers nor the U.S. government would much want Bucky’s talent and skills to go to waste. He was, after all, highly trained. Hydra’s perfect weapon, curated for maximum efficiency. 

“You okay?” Bucky mumbles to him, so softly it was just between them. Steve gives him a worried look. 

“You can run,” He whispers desperately, willing Bucky to believe him. Bucky had evaded capture before, and without Steve slowing him down, he could surely get away from the Avengers at some point between here and their destination of Stark Towers. “You can make it. You’re fast. If I--I block you, with my body, they won't be able to shoot at you, they won't r-risk hurting me--”

Bucky shakes his head slowly. Steve supposes he’s trying to look reassuring, but it fails miserably, and he mostly looks defeated. “Not this time, doll. I can’t run anymore. It’s time.” 

“This isn’t about you, Steve.” Clint says softly, interrupting. “This is what has to be done. It doesn’t mean he’s going to be locked up for the rest of his life.” 

“It does,” Steve yells, whipping around to face his friends again. “Yes, it fucking does, and yet knowing that--knowing everything he’s been through, you’d really take a tortured soul and lock him up--_ again?” _

“It won’t be forever,” Sam argues. “Like Natasha said, nothing we talked about is off the table.” 

“Tony knows he’s coming. He’s expecting us,” Natasha tells him quietly. “I’m sorry, Steve. This is how it has to be.”

“Natalia,” Bucky nods once, putting his hands in the air as a sign of surrender. “Been a while.” 

“Sasha. You remember me?” Natasha’s eyebrows raise. She says something softly in Russian and Bucky bows his head, defeated. 

“I’ll come easily,” He tells them, in his soft, honey-drip voice. “But just. Just don’t hurt Steve.”

“_We _ would never hurt him,” Natasha sneers, and Steve wants to scream at her for it. Bucky had never hurt him. All he had done this entire time was _ protect _Steve. “Sam, cuff him. Let’s go, Stark is waiting.” 

_ No. _

Steve does the only thing he can think of. 

He turns to Bucky and wraps his arms like a vice around Bucky’s waist, pressing his face into Bucky’s chest. He inhales hungrily, memorizing the scent, the feel of their bodies pressed together. He didn’t know when he would get this again.

Keeping one hand up in the air as a sign of surrender, the other strokes Steve’s hair in gently, soothing movements. 

“S’okay,” Bucky says again, pressing a kiss to the top of Steve’s head. “We knew this was coming.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Steve sniffles into Bucky’s chest. “This is all my fault, Buck. But I won’t let anyone hurt you, I won’t ever give up--”

“Steve, let go,” Sam’s voice says from behind him. “I’ve gotta put these cuffs on him. It’s protocol.”

Protocol? Steve was pretty sure there wasn’t a protocol for taking in Enhanced 100 year old Soviet assassins. 

The handcuffs didn’t look like handcuffs at all--they were more like large metal arm braces, long enough that they’d span from finger tip to elbow on Bucky. Steve supposed it made sense. They had to be strong enough to subdue the metal arm. 

“Let go,” Sam prompts again, when Steve doesn’t move. “Come on, man. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” 

“No,” Steve says stubbornly, holding on tighter. He didn’t know when he’d get to hold Bucky again, and he wanted to suspend this moment just a little bit longer. The dread in the pit of his stomach eased with Bucky’s hands on him.

“Stevie,” Bucky whispers, his thumb sweeping over Steve’s cheekbone. He keeps his voice warm and gentle for Steve’s sake, and Steve hates him for it. He wants Bucky to be _ real. _He’s dying to know what Bucky really thinks about this, about being locked up again. He wants to hear the panic and desperation so he knows Bucky isn’t just going to give up and let himself be hurt again. 

“Let go, kitten. It’s alright. Let go, and then go wait outside. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

Bucky, still trying to protect him even though he knew what was coming his way: the fate he said he’d rather die than suffer. 

“I don’t want to,” Steve sniffles, shoving his face harder against Bucky’s body. Bucky’s heartbeat is steady. He smells like the hotel soap and like _ Bucky _ . He doesn’t care that he’s being childish and stubborn and difficult. He doesn’t care about _ anything _other than holding on as tightly as he can. “I’m not gonna leave you.” 

“Jet is outside,” Clint clears his throat. “We should go. They’re expecting us at the tower. We don’t want them to send backup, that wouldn’t be good for anyone.” 

“Steve,” Sam says warningly. “Let go of him.” His voice is harder now, impatient. 

“Buck--hold on to me,” Steve pleads, but Bucky doesn’t. He, unlike Steve, had accepted what was to come. He wasn’t fighting it. “Hold onto me,” He sobs, but Bucky still doesn’t move. He, unlike Steve, has accepted what’s coming. What is inevitable. 

“Don’t make me pull you off of him, Steve,” Sam threatens. “This is ridiculous.” 

That only makes Steve see red, so he promptly tightens his grip around Bucky, holding on with all the force he has in him. He wasn’t a match for Sam’s strength, he knew, but was stubborn as hell and could dig his heels in (metaphorically and physically) when he wanted to. 

“Ace--” Bucky begins, but Steve feels Sam’s arms snake around his waist, physically tugging him off of Bucky before Bucky can finish. 

Honestly, Steve didn’t really think Sam would physically intervene, and he only gets more angry that he’s being pulled off of Bucky like a toddler throwing a tantrum. When Bucky picked him up, Steve felt powerful. When Sam did it, Steve felt powerless.

“No!” Steve screams, thrashing. He tries to grab any part of Bucky he can to hold on--his wrist, his shirt, his belt buckle. “Don’t _ touch _me!”

He’s fighting so violently he rears his head back and hears Sam curse as Steve’s head connects with his nose, probably breaking it or at the very least making it bleed.

“Dammit,” Sam curses. “Steve, _ let go, _ I don’t want to hurt you. _ ” _

_ “ _Steve,” Natasha pipes in. “Don’t be difficult. You’re embarrassing yourself.” 

Bucky watches him with sad, even eyes, keeping his hands in the air and not doing a damn thing to hold on to Steve, not even taking advantage of the chaos to get away. Even with the force of Steve gripping him with all of his might, Bucky doesn’t sway or tumble in any directions, just stands as still as a statue as Steve scrambles to hold on, his hands in the air in the universal sign of _ surrender. _He had given up.

“It’s okay,” He keeps saying, as Natasha reaches up to snap the handcuffs on him. They make a mechanical whirring sound and lock into place, winding all the way up to Bucky’s elbows. “It’s okay, Ace. Let go, now. We’ll make it work, just let go.”

“_Steve,” _Sam hisses, trying to get a good enough grip on Steve without hurting him. Steve wasn’t making it easy, not staying still for a moment and scraping his nails across Bucky’s chest just trying to hold on. It must hurt, really, but Bucky has no reaction, just watching with sad eyes. Steve feels rabid, seething with anger and heartbreak--his vision blurred with tears of frustration. 

Nothing anyone says registers, he’s set on holding onto Bucky for as long as he could, and he’d spend all his energy on doing so. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” Sam warns, at the same time Bucky soothes, “Baby, it’s time. We’re alright, we’ll find a way--”

“_Let go of me!” _Steve screams to Sam, fed up when Sam gives a hard final tug and frees him from Bucky’s torso at last, finally using his strength on Steve in a way he never had before the entire time Steve has known him.

_ No. _How dare Sam rip Steve from Bucky like that? How dare he pluck them apart? Steve didn’t know how long they were going to be separated, and it made him physically dizzy with anger to think whatever sweet few moments he might have had with Bucky were torn away by this scene. 

Seething with rage, Steve reaches up to punch Sam in the face with all his strength, hoping it would stun him enough to get back to Bucky just one last time, but Sam grabs his wrist at a strange angle to stop the blow, and Steve yelps out in pain, going limp in Sam’s grip, cradling his arm to his chest. 

Agony explodes up his arm and around his wrist. 

Sam freezes. “Oh, shit, Steve--are you okay? Dammit, I’m so sorry, Steve, tell me where it hurts--”

Bucky’s eyes snap up to him at the sound, and the calm demeanour is gone--Steve sees the switch as it happens, and he understands it immediately. 

They’d hurt Steve--that wasn’t okay. Bucky had told him that his mission imperative when he’d instinctively switched into Winter Soldier mode was to protect Steve. If that mission imperative was threatened--well, then his friends were in for some trouble. 

Steve cradles his wrist to his chest and lets Sam support his weight, biting back sobs of pain. It was definitely broken, considering the weird angle it was bent at. The pain was white-hot and demanding, trying to steal up all of his attention. 

“Steve!” Bucky snaps. He gets to his feet from where Natasha had put him on his knees, and with a swift kick has both her and Clint on their asses, and even handcuffed, begins stalking towards Steve, moving with purpose. His eyes were still _ Bucky, _though, still soft, just clouded with concern and anger that Steve had been hurt.

“Steve, are you--”

Before Bucky can finish his sentence, Natasha says three words in Russian, a strange mix of syllables that Steve is in too much pain to sort out, and Bucky crumples to the ground, curling in on himself, screaming in agony. 

“Bucky!” Steve tries to fight again, and then winces as it jostles his wrist. “_What the hell did you do to him?” _He shouts through his sobs. Bucky’s eyes were wide with the pain, his teeth clenched together. It looked like he was having some sort of seizure, but suffering immense pain all the while. 

“Nat!” Steve barks again, when she doesn’t immediately do anything. “Jesus fucking christ, Nat, make it stop.Make it _ stop _right now or--or you're _dead _to me!" It's the most vile thing he can think of, and it must work, because Natasha's posture straightens. 

Natasha looks calm. She looks from Steve, cradling his broken wrist in Sam’s grip, to Bucky, thrashing on the floor as she were electrocuting him. And all she did was say a few little words. 

“Расслабься солдат,” She says softly. “At ease.” And Bucky freezes. His screaming stops. He breathes hard, eyes wide and unfocused as he comes to once again.

“Buck?” Steve says, wanting to hear confirmation that he was okay, wanting to know what the hell Natasha had done to him, but Sam is already dragging him out, lifting him bridal style as though he were a child. 

“I think you’ve seen enough,” Sam mutters, walking him out of the motel room and out into the parking lot. 

“No!” Steve squirms, but winces hard when it jostles his arm. “Dammit--Sam, I need to know if he’s okay--”

“He’ll be alright. We’re going to look after him just fine.” Sam promises, but Steve _ saw _what they just did to him--and it was terrible.

“Sam, put me down! _ Bucky! _” He calls again, looking over Sam’s shoulder. He can’t see anything, his glasses are crooked on his face and his tears are blurring his vision. 

“Shh,” Sam soothes. “It’ll be alright, Steve, just try to take it easy.” He adjusts his grip on Steve, careful of his arm, and brings him onto some sort of jet that appeared out of thin air when Sam pressed a button on his headset. It’s huge and incredibly high tech looking, with big glasses windows all the way around and a ramp that unfolds automatically as Steve and Sam get closer.

“A13G,” Sam says into his headset. “Target in custody, loading now for home-base.”

Someone must say something back, though Steve can’t hear it, because Sam listens for a moment longer as he climbs the ramp, and then says, “Roger that.” 

“Sam, please, just let me see him,” Steve begs, trying to peer around Sam’s broad shoulders to get some glimpse of Bucky. He sees a mop of brown hair and squints, trying to focus. 

“Bucky?” Steve yells after him, ignoring whatever Sam was saying about _ it’s going to be alright _. “Are you okay?” 

Bucky’s eyes are flat, he’s walking in between Clint and Natasha, who don’t have any hands on him but might as well, from the high tech handcuffs. His posture isn’t _ Bucky, _it’s the Winter Soldier, and Steve knows that something in him had broken. 

“Soldier,” Natasha said, as they climbed the ramp onto the ship. “Status?” 

Bucky’s eyes stare straight ahead at nothing in particular. Steve tries to meet his gaze unsuccessfully. “готов соблюдать."

Sam takes Steve on board, carrying him up to the front where a partition came down keeping him out of view of Bucky. “Hey!” Steve protests, kicking his legs a little. Sam doesn’t entertain him with a response, but gets to work flicking buttons on the aircraft to make it come to life.

Steve tried to listen to the silence for any sound of Bucky, any conversation or struggle, but there is nothing but the whirr of the engine as it hums to life and his own heavy breathing. 

Sam is silent but gentle as he straps Steve into the seat at the front of the aircraft. He flicked a few more switches on the dash and the concrete beneath them gets further away in a quick rush. Steve stomach drops a little, so he closes his eyes, more tears running silently down his cheeks. 

He was powerless. Natasha, with just three words, had made Bucky _ wither _on ground, had made him snap back into programming. 

“Steve,” Sam says softly, taking a seat across from Steve in the pilot’s spot. Steve knew Sam could fly, but he hadn’t really known that he could _ fly, _as in, operate an aircraft. Though, this thing was so high-tech he wasn’t sure how much prompting it really needed, he was still vaguely impressed, somewhere in the far back of his mind, where things like that still mattered. “Hey, I’m so sorry I hurt you, man. Honestly, it was an accident, I was distracted, and--”

“I don’t care about my stupid arm.” Steve spits. He could care less--he was a little annoyed at the pain, but that was it. He had much bigger concerns. “What the fuck did Nat do to Bucky?” 

Sam’s eyes slide away, guilty. He has a terrible poker face. “I don’t know, exactly. She poured over some Hydra files we found at one of the bases. I think it contained...some programming phrases. I don’t know Russian, though, so I’m not exactly sure what she said.” 

Steve’s tears run freely, but he bites down on his lip to keep from making a sound. What kind of people could program that into a man? 

How many times, how many _ hours _of torture would it take before three words could trigger such a visceral response? 

And then, after the pain...it had seemed like Bucky snapped back into the Winter Soldier’s headspace. He wasn’t acting like _ Bucky. _No doubt the programming phrases had something to do with that. 

“How dare she,” Steve whispers, keeping his eyes screwed up tight. “What gives her the right.”

“Bucky was charging towards you. Us,” Sam explains. Steve opens his eyes just to shoot him a nasty look, and Sam holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m not defending what she did--I still think it was wrong. I just...I understand why. She didn’t know if Bucky was going to hurt you, man. We were all worried after we saw him take off with you while he was in such a bad place.” 

“How long is it going to take for you to get this through your _ thick fucking skulls,” _ Steve says through clenched teeth. “That Bucky is _ not _ ever going to hurt me? I mean, Jesus, Sam, you broke my arm, he was just trying to make sure I was okay. He wanted to make sure he could _ trust _ you with my safety, and you--you _ broke him.” _

“In your apartment--”

“In my apartment,” Steve echos, heated, “you surprised him, and you were armed. Of course he was going to go on the defensive, programming or not, you’d have done the exact same thing. He didn’t trust you, and when Clint fired that arrow, you showed him that he was right not to. He didn’t take me for leverage, he didn’t want to leave me with _ you. _”

Even if he lived for a hundred years, Steve didn’t think he’d ever be able to forget that haunted look on Bucky’s face, the pure agony that spread across his features and made his whole body rigid. 

And to think that if Steve had just kept his mouth shut--if he hadn’t yelped in pain like that--maybe Bucky would still be himself. Maybe they wouldn’t have hurt him. 

Steve’s had broken bones before. He could have been stronger. He _ should _have been. 

Sam pulls out a first aid kit. He looks guilty, so guilty he might throw up right there at Steve’s feet. Steve feels it rolling off of Sam in thick waves, but he’s guilty for the wrong reasons. Steve knows he feels bad about breaking his arm, not about incapacitating the hurting soldier behind the partition. The silence hangs between them for a few moments longer, before he clears his throat. 

“I’m going to splint your arm,” Sam says softly. “Okay?” 

“Whatever.” None of it mattered anymore. On the other side of that sliding wall, was Bucky, in handcuffs, not in his right mind and probably hurting.

If he acted in any way violent towards the Avengers or SHIELD staff, it wasn’t going to be easy for Steve to get him released. If Steve could just _ talk _to him, however, he’d be willing to bet he could ground Bucky once again, like he had done many times before. 

All he needed to do was treat him like a human being for a few moments, and Bucky would be back. 

Sam is gentle, touching Steve with barely-there motions as he splints his wrist. Steve doesn’t listen as Sam talks, but he hears him mutter something about _ might have to be rebroken, _ and _ you can hate me for as long as you want for this, Rogers, _ and _ I’m really sorry, I’m such an idiot. _

Tears stream down Steve’s cheeks silently. His shoulders don’t shake with sobs and his bottom lip doesn’t tremble. His body is rejecting the very situation, caving in on itself and trying to conjure up a new reality where he and Bucky lived happily ever after in the apartment. 

He stares out the window at the tiny cars and tiny people, wondering if any of them had ever felt heartbreak such as this. 

The snow was back over the city, and it made Steve realize the time of year. Was it December already? The months had flown by like water running through his fingers, and it seemed impossible that Christmas was just around the corner.

His mother always made a big deal about Christmas, even when they didn’t have enough money for rent she made sure to have something wrapped up under the tree for Steve, even if it was just a new pair of socks or a hand-sewn scarf. Those gifts were his favourite--the ones that Sarah made with her own hands. She was an artist, like Steve, only better--and she was fluent in many mediums. 

He missed her, then. It hit him like a truck, like grief sometimes does. You’re fine, you think you’ve moved on, and then you remember her shampoo and her laugh and her lovely way of _ being, _and you fall apart all over again. Sarah would know what to do about this, she knew what to do about everything. She would be able to rub Steve’s back and she would hug Bucky tight and, if nothing else, she’d believe in them. That would be enough, Steve thinks, to have someone else rooting for their success. 

After what feels like only moments, the jet engine whirrs a little louder and lowers itself onto some work of landing pad at the top of Stark Tower.

“Coming in,” Sam said into his headset. “Do you copy?” He pauses. “Roger that--Barnes incoming.” 

Steve is already fussing one-armed with the seat belt, which was more complicated than Sam had made it seem when he’d smoothly buckled Steve in. 

“Well?” Steve squirms, eager to get time to talk to Bucky before the heat of the world and SHIELD set in on him. “What are we waiting for?” 

Sam hesitates, looking away. Sam unbuckles himself with one click and gets to his feet. “They’re going to bring Barnes in and we’re going to wait. And then we can head inside and get you to med bay.” 

“I want to see him,” Steve protests, brow furrowed. So this is how it was going to be. They were going to do their best to keep he and Bucky apart, and Steve was going to be powerless. “That’s not fair, Sam. I want to see him.” 

“Barnes is unstable when you’re around, Steve. You trigger unpredictable reactions from him. It’s safer for everyone if they just bring him silently. You can see him later.”

Something in Sam’s tone made Steve feel like Sam didn’t _ know _if Steve would really be allowed to see Bucky later or not. He didn’t know how much authority Sam really had on the matter, but he had a feeling that Tony Stark and the Government were going to have some things to say about Bucky being taken in. 

“This is so fucked up,” Steve whispers, staring up at the ceiling of the jet. He can’t cry, he’s got nothing left in him. He’s so dehydrated he’s surprised he’s still conscious. “So goddamn fucked up.”

“It will work itself out,” Sam soothes. “I’m not going to give up either, Steve. I want you to get a happy ending out of this--Barnes, too. There is just some bureaucratic stuff that has to be done before that can happen. If you want this to work, trust the process.” 

_ Trust the process. _Yeah, because the American legal system was so fucking trustworthy. Steve didn’t trust anyone right now, he didn’t trust the ground under his feet not to give out. 

They wait a few more minutes in silence, before Sam presses a finger to his comm and says, “Roger that. Inbound.” Then he reaches over, unbuckles Steve, and nods towards the door. “Let’s go.” 

They’re on the rooftop of Stark Towers, judging by the familiar New York skyline. Steve barely has time to take it in, to feel the rough wind on his face, before he’s being pushed onto a gurney, people in lab coats fussing over him. 

Suddenly, he was surrounded, and found himself squinting up at unfamiliar faces. 

“Left arm,” Steve hears Sam instruct, as he’s pushed onto a hospital cot and reclined until he was laying flat. Unfamiliar faces buzzed above him, his cot being pushed urgently inside and the wind stops, but the noise doesn’t. Where was Bucky? “Not a clean break--possible dehydration, malnutrition, check for other signs of external trauma--”

Steve tunes them out. He’s too exhausted to pay attention to any of what they’re yelling about. He lets his mind drift. He was used to this, at least, lying on a hospital bed with doctors fussing over him. If nothing else, _ this _was familiar. 

Where was Bucky right now? Was he okay? Was he hurt? Was he...in the right headspace? Steve knows he should be fighting harder to get to him, shouldn’t be lying in the bed pliant, but he was _ tired. _The last 48 hours had been a whirlwind and Steve had barely eaten or slept. His body was crying out for some rest, and a cheeseburger. 

But whatever Steve was feeling, wouldn’t Bucky be feeling it a thousand times over? When had _ he _last slept? Eaten? He was still healing from the bullet wounds, Steve was pretty sure. He didn’t know exactly how quickly Bucky’s healing worked, but he had to at least be tender.

They escort him inside, where fluorescent lights on the ceiling blur together as he’s pushed down hallway after hallway, into an elevator and down a few floors. He closes his eyes. It’s easier that way.

“Steve?” Someone says. Steve keeps his eyes closed. He’s remembering Bucky’s face when Natasha had said those words. The pain, the way his body _ thrashed, _the blankness in his eyes after the fact. “I’m Dr. Banner. I’m gonna be checking you out today. Now, I see you’ve got a pretty messy break here. I want to get you into an X-Ray so we can see exactly what’s going on, but I’m thinking we’re going to have to re-break it to set it properly.” 

Steve opens his eyes. He’s stopped moving, evidently, and he’s in a generic, if not high-tech hospital room. The man standing over him has a mop of curly brown-grey hair, thick-rimmed glasses, and a shy smile. Steve instantly finds himself wanting to trust those dark eyes, despite the chaos around him. “Does that sound okay?” 

“Sounds fuckin’ painful.” Steve grunts. Dr. Banner’s smile drops, and he looks worried. 

“We’re gonna give you some pain meds, you won’t feel a thing. You’re a VIP here, Mr. Rogers, and you’ll be treated with the utmost--”

“Yeah,” Steve interrupts, closing his eyes. He didn’t care, they were going to put him out, and that was all he wanted. “I just want to go to sleep. Put me under, please. Let’s get this over with.” 

He hears Dr. Banner clear his throat and then scribble something on his clipboard. “Okay, Steve. We’re just going to put the IV in…” Steve feels a slight sting in his right arm, and then light pressure. “Okay, count backwards from ten for me…” 

“10,” Steve counts robotically. Where _ was _Bucky right now? Was he safe? Were they hurting him? “9, 8, 7, 6….” 

As his consciousness goes black around the edges, Steve swears he hears Bucky’s ragged voice calling out his name, echoing through the halls and corridors of Stark Tower. 

***

_ Bucky is chained up by the ankles, his arms bound behind his back, his mouth gagged with tape. His eyes are wild and terrified, and he’s grunting something--calling out for Steve. _

_ He’s got gashes all over his body, like he’d been flogged, and blood runs freely from the open wounds. He’s covered in sweat and grim, his long hair matted with blood. _

_ “Bucky!” Steve calls, running towards him. He rips the tape from Bucky’s mouth and cups his face. The sky is stormy and thunder rolls in the background. “Buck, God, who did this to you?” _

_ “You did,” Bucky spits, recoiling from Steve’s touch, his eyes full of hate. “You promised me that you wouldn’t let them hurt me. You _ promised _ .” _

_ “I won’t!” Steve says frantically, tugging at the handcuffs, trying to free Bucky. “I won’t let them!” _

_ “It’s too late,” Bucky rasps. “Look what you’ve done to me. I don’t think I can forgive you for this, Steve. Not this. I’ll always hate you for it.” _

_ “Buck, I’m so sorry, I’ll make it right--” _

“Steve.”

_ “Please don’t hate me, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m--” _

“Steve!” 

Steve jerks away, bolting upright and panting hard, looking around the room. He was lying in a hospital cot, in an unfamiliar hospital room that smells sterile, with a large window overlooking the city and glass walls that let Steve see into the hallway, where important looking people strolled up and down. 

The same room he was in when he went under--he remembers now. He coughs, trying to get his bearings. 

“Sam,” Steve pants, grasping his own chest and trying to breathe. “Jesus.” 

“You were having a nightmare,” Sam tells him, face drawn up in concern. “Pretty bad one, from the sounds of it.” 

“Sorry.” Steve apologizes distractedly. He moves to brush his sweaty hair out of his face, and blinks down at the bulky new addition to his left arm. “Oh,” he says dumbly, staring down at the cast. “They fixed me.” 

“Yeah,” Sam swallows, looking incredibly guilty. He scratches his neck, staring at the ground. “I’m _ really _ sorry ‘bout that, man, I can’t apologize enough--”

“I think you have,” Steve says, too tired to deal with this right now. He wasn’t angry at Sam for hurting him. It was an accident, and an honest mistake that Steve was surprised hadn’t happened earlier. He was angry for the way things happened, the way they took Bucky in while Steve begged them not to. 

The way Natasha’s words had made Bucky thrash in pain, made him snap. He didn’t care about his stupid arm, _ he _was going to be fine. Bucky? He didn’t know that he’d be okay, and that was the worst part of it all. 

“How’re you feeling?” 

“I’m fine,” Steve shrugs. His arm hurt a little, but it was nothing unbearable. He’d pop an Advil and forget about it. “I want to see him.” 

Sam lets out a long breath. “He’s in questioning right now. You’ll have to wait.” 

“They’re questioning him? Who?” Steve should have expected that. Of course they’d want to know what intel Bucky had, on Hydra projects and bases, and test his loyalties and mental capacities to make sure he could really be trusted. 

“SHIELD agents. It’s all very humane, Steve, so don’t go picturing Guantanamo Bay, or anything like that.” Sam reassures him. Steve is still suspicious. “I’ll get in touch with Stark and see what we can do about letting you see Bucky. Hopefully soon.” 

“No need,” A voice emerges from around the corner. Tony Stark walks into Steve’s hospital room, wearing a suit that was probably worth more than Steve’s life insurance, his face unreadable. Steve’s jaw drops. “Heya there, kiddo. You must be Steve.” 

“Speak of the devil,” Sam grumbles.

“I--” Steve begins, but doesn’t get a chance to speak. 

“Yeah,” Tony sighs. “I know, kid. You’ve been causing me a _ lot _of trouble lately. You know I’ve been smoking again? Pepper blames you.” 

“Oh, I--” 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re in _ love _, you’re sorry, blah blah blah. Save it for the ‘gram. So listen, here’s the deal. We’ve got in our custody one murderous, stabby-boy who, I’ve learned, has a particular affinity for one Steven Grant Rogers.” Stark pauses for dramatic effect. “And we can’t get him to talk.” 

“But you think I can.” Steve squints. Tony Stark in the flesh was exactly like he was on TV--big personality, flashy outfits, and a fast-talker. Steve had to work to keep up. 

“You have to,” Stark explains, shrugging his shoulders. He had an air about him, like nothing in the world mattered. His words were threatening but he said them in such a careless way that their weight was lost. “Or else.” 

“Are you--are you _ threatening _me?” Steve gapes. He couldn’t believe what he’d gotten him and Bucky into. 

“Tony,” Sam frowns disapprovingly. “Don’t. He’s been through a lot. Go easy.” 

Steve wanted to snap at Sam for speaking for him, but honestly he appreciated the back up. Tony Stark was clearly an enigma, and Steve wasn’t sure he had the energy to deal with that right now. 

“I’m just saying,” Tony sighed with a loose shrug. “The man who killed my parents is sitting in an interrogation room 20 floors below us and he won’t say a damn word about anything. If you don’t get him to talk and start spilling the beans, then, well. He’s useless to us. And useless isn’t a thing that you want to be when you’re a criminal.” 

Steve’s temper flares, and he sits up again, teeth clenched. He’d crossed a line, and Steve was about to let him _ have _it. 

“Look, Stark. I’m sorry about your parents. Really, that’s awful--when I lost my mom, I was a wreck, so I get it.” He inhales deeply, trying not to just scream. “But do you know--do you _ know _ what Hydra did to Bucky? How they tortured him? Did you even fucking read the file? They operated on him while he was awake, they fed him through a tube, they electrocuted him until he stopped screaming, they stripped him of everything that would make him _ human, _and made him do awful, terrible things--”

“Steve,” Sam pipes in, trying to keep the peace. 

“Bucky was just a man with an alcoholic father, and a mother who sang to him, and a little sister who he _ adored. _ When the call came to serve his country in a time of need, he answered. He was planning on giving his life, if that was required of him--but they took _ so _ much more. They took everything!” Steve shouted. “So, respectfully, _ Mr. Stark, _ Bucky deserves all the fucking empathy in the _ world _ right now. You’ll forgive me if I don’t take kindly to him being referred to as a _ criminal. _” 

“Okay,” Sam breathes, his therapy voice coming out. “Let’s just--”

“I did,” Stark interrupts, voice softer. His face has lost that impatient, arrogant touch, and he looked somber. “I read the file.” 

“So then you know that Bucky is the victim.” 

“Victim is a strong word. Maybe _ not criminally responsible _is a better term.” 

Steve ground his teeth together. He knew that Tony owned everything in this building, including the very hospital bed Steve was lying on--but he’d _ really _like to clock the guy over the head for insinuating that Bucky deserved what happened to him. 

“You don’t know him like I do,” Steve challenges. “If you did, you wouldn’t waste a second doing everything in your power to make sure he isn’t kept in a cell for a second longer.”

“Maybe that’s true,” Stark shrugs again. “But if he won’t talk, it’ll be pretty hard to get all buddy-buddy with the guy, won’t it?” 

“He’s _ scared,” _Steve argues. “You hurt the one person he cares about in this world, and the second he tried to protect me, Natasha triggered some fucked-up programming and basically scrambled his head up all over again. If she hadn’t done that, Bucky would be lucid right now. He was trying to cooperate when she used those words, he was going to come willingly.” 

“She was just trying to protect me,” Sam jumps in apologetically. “It was wrong, but--”

“Natasha felt, from where she was standing, that the way Barnes lunged at Sam was threatening,” Tony answered mechanically. “That’s protocal. We do what we need to do to survive, so that we’re around to face the next threat.” 

Bucky wasn’t a threat--Steve knew that. He also knew it would take time to convince everyone _ else _of that. “He isn’t going to cooperate. He doesn’t trust any of you.” and Steve didn’t blame him. He didn’t trust them either. 

“Well, that’s where you come in.” 

“Is he asking for me?” Steve says, trying not to let the hope show in his voice too much. 

He must fail, because Tony gives him a pitying look. 

“No, he isn’t. He isn’t saying _ anything.” _

Steve clenches his jaw. He was pretty sure that meant Bucky hadn’t snapped out of the Winter Soldier’s headspace. Whatever Nat had done to him had messed him up pretty bad. 

“I need to see him,” Steve demanded, and when Tony arched his brow, Steve remembered who he was talking to. He didn’t care. “Now.” 

Sam cleared his throat. “Look, Tony--Steve’s right. If we want to get anything out of Barnes, Steve is the key. He’s the only one Barnes trusts.” 

Steve didn’t know how he felt about being used like a commodity to get information out of Bucky, but he knew that he _ did _need to see him, and talk to him. He needed to get a sense of where Bucky’s head was, so that he could help him get grounded once again. 

Once Steve got _ that _under control, they’d be able to figure out what to do next, and Bucky would get some say in the matter. They could figure things out together. 

“I know you’re every superhero's favourite _ pet _right now, blondie, but I don’t trust you.” Tony tells him, as calmly as if he was commenting on the weather. “I think you should know that.” 

Steve lifts his chin, unafraid. “Considering you’ve got my boyfriend locked in a cell….I don’t trust you, either.” 

Tony gives him a once over for that, like he appreciates Steve’s snark, and then lets out a long suffering sigh. He opens his mouth to say something, when suddenly he’s interrupted. 

“Sir,” A male British voice interrupts calmly. JARVIS. “There is a 784B on the 31st floor. It’s Mr. Barnes.” 

“Shit,” Tony curses. “Give orders to detain _ peacefully_. Rubber bullets only, tranquilize him, do what you have to. _ Don’t _ let him out of the tower.” 

“Buck,” Steve jumps to his feet. “What’s 784B?” Steve asks Sam, who is already heading for the door. 

“He’s got a hostage,” Sam replies, voice shaking. “And he’s on the move.” 

_ Dammit, _ Steve thinks, panicking, _ No, Buck. _Bucky was probably terrified, and if he hurt someone, he’d never forgive himself. 

“Bring me to him,” Steve says, jumping out of bed and ripping the IV from his hand. When Sam frowns, Steve snarls, “You know I’m the _ only one _ that will get through to him right now.” 

Sam hesitates for a moment, as if he’s going to resist, but Tony is already down the hall in the elevator. “Well!” He calls impatiently. “Going down! Are you in or out?” 

“In,” Sam grumbled, grabbing Steve’s good wrist to tug him along at a faster pace. “Don’t let me down here, Steve.” 

“Same to you.” 

The elevator plunges, and when the door open again, the floor is bathed in red lights with sirens blasting, people running everywhere and absolute fucking chaos. 

“JARVIS,” Tony snaps, pressing a button on his watch. It turns into an Iron Man glove in seconds, as Steve watches with wide eyes. He hoped this didn’t mean Tony was gearing up to fight Bucky himself. “Get this floor on lockdown.” 

“Already done, sir.” 

“Give me eyes on Barnes.” Tony’s watch projects a holographic video of Bucky in light blue scrubs, holding a terrified looking woman as a human shield, storming through the hallways with heavy steps. His eyes were flat. 

“This way,” Tony barks, already taking off down the hall, taking right and left hand turns. Steve scrambles after him and Sam, trying to keep up without pushing himself too hard. An asthma attack would be wholly inconvenient right now. 

When they round the next corner in a panicked clump, Bucky is there, against the wall, three SHIELD agents having finally cornered him with their guns drawn. The woman in his arms trembles visibly, crying out in spanish. She’s wearing office attire, but she’s young--maybe an intern. 

“Please,” She says in English, mascara running down her face. “My mother--is expecting me home--”

“Steve,” Sam says under his breath, already reaching for Steve’s shoulder. Steve dashes out of his reach. “Don’t just--”

“Bucky!” Steve shouts, loud enough to be heard over the sirens and general chaos of the area. “Hey, Bucky! Look at me! Over here!” 

Bucky’s flat eyes slide over to him, and he blinks a few times. Steve sees a flash of recognition there, but it’s small and fleeting. Bucky was far gone. “Steve.” 

“Yeah,” Steve nods, stepping out from behind Tony and Sam. “Yeah, Buck, it’s me. Look, I know you’re scared, right now, and that’s understandable, but that woman is innocent, and you’re hurting her. I know you don’t want to do that. You don’t like hurting people, remember?” 

Bucky looks down at the girl he was holding, as if realizing she was there for the first time. His metal arm gripping her wrist left a ring of purple bruises, but she was otherwise alright. He releases her slowly, stepping back, and she rushes out of his arms, fleeing down the hallway without a second glance back, as fast as her kitten-heels would carry her. 

Steve is about to say more, praise Bucky again, but before he can four SHIELD agents are on top of him, chaining him up with those electric blue handcuffs.

“Buck, it’s okay--don’t fight them,” Steve urges, his heart in his throat, but Bucky doesn’t react to his words, though he also doesn’t fight back as he’s restrained. He’s passive, if only a little rigid.

The agents haul Bucky to his feet. Their eyes meet for a split second, and Steve sees panic in Bucky’s eyes as the haul him off around the corner and back towards whatever cell they were keeping him in. 

“Wait!” Steve goes to follow, but Sam’s hand on his shoulder stops him. 

“Give him a minute to calm down and get settled once again.” He warns. “Then we’ll go.” 

Steve wants to scream, or run after Bucky, but he’s frozen, Sam’s promise hanging in the air. 

When Bucky is out of sight, the red lights flick back to normal and the blaring siren cut off, leaving an eerie silence cast over the floor that just seconds ago had been bursting with noise.

“Well,” Stark sighs, leaning bodily against the wall. “That was fun.” 

“I need to see him,” Steve urges, turning to face Tony, whose face is hard to read, but Steve thinks it’s somewhere between impressed and annoyed. “You saw--he listens to me. I can calm him down. I think I can even break his programming and ground him again.” 

Stark arches a brow at him, but eventually he sighs, giving in. “I suppose I gotta let you try. Like Sam said, give them a few minutes and then you can head down to his cell. I want him to talk.” 

“He’ll be more likely to talk if he’s himself and right now, he isn’t,” Steve replies stiffly. Where were they taking Bucky? Was he going to be okay? _ Was _Steve going to be able to bring him back? “But I might be able to fix that.” 

Stark snorts. “Whatever you say, blondie. Don’t see how Mr. Murder is gonna suddenly switch but, sure. I’ll let you give it a go.”

Steve turns away from him and looks at Sam, hopeful. “Now?” Steve asks, his weight already rocking on to his toes, eager to go. 

“Let’s get some lunch first,” Sam instructs, wrapping a gentle arm around Steve’s shoulders. “The cafeteria is _ amazing.” _

***

Despite everything that had happened between him and Sam, things were comfortable as they ate. Sam was right, the caf _ was _amazing, as amazing as Steve would expect from such a luxury building. 

He was viciously attacking gluten free pizza and sucking down a tall glass of water, as per Sam’s orders. He was severely dehydrated and exhausted. So much had happened in the last 72 hours. 

“Clint and Nat are in the holding room, with Barnes,” Sam explains around a mouthful of caprese salad. He had an affinity for the finer things in life. “They’re monitoring him. I’m getting updates periodically.” Sam flips up his phone to show Steve his most recent text from Nat. 

_ Nat says: Barnes not resisting but uncooperative. _

Steve nods at the phone, and takes another bite. He felt guilty for sitting here and enjoying the food while Bucky was just a few floors below them, caged like an animal. Had they fed him? Was he thirsty? 

“When you go in,” Sam begins, voice quiet enough that it doesn’t draw attention in the caf filled with office personnel, “he’s going to be handcuffed to a chair. He’s going to have a headpiece on, that is going to look scary, but it’s really not. It’s not a muzzle, exactly--” 

“_Muzzled?” _ Steve slams down his water, eyes wide, dropping his food. His stomach rolled. “You’ve got to be _ fucking _ kidding me. I thought you _ wanted _him to talk.” 

“We do,” Sam allows. He at least has the good sense to look guilty. “The muzzle--isn’t really a muzzle. It _ looks _ like one, kind of, and I guess it functions like one, but it’s more high tech than that.” 

“Explain.” Steve is furious. Muzzled, like a dog, like he wasn’t even _ human. _Natasha and Clint were witnessing this, letting it happen. 

“I, uh, don’t fully understand, since you know science isn’t my strong suit, but it’s got something to do with reading Bucky’s brain waves. We’ve been trying to figure out what damage Hydra has done to his brain to see if we can find a way to reverse it. Help him heal from the trauma.” 

Steve drinks that in with narrowed eyes. The purpose seemed worthy, but the method--muzzling Bucky--was unfavourable. “Help him,” he repeats, as if the concept is foreign. 

“I know you think that we’re trying to see Barnes go up in flames,” Sam snaps, “But we actually want the opposite. He’s got valuable information, and is incredibly talented. Like Natasha said, nothing we talked about earlier is off the table. We’re trying to get him into a stable headspace.” 

Steve clenches his jaw. “You just want him to be better because he’s useful, not because you care.” 

“_I _care. You care. SHIELD is going to help him get better--it doesn’t matter how the big guys see him, so long as they help him, right? What matters is that Bucky gets the help he needs.” Sam tells him earnestly. “This is going to be a process, Steve, maybe a long one. But I truly think everything is going to be okay.” 

Steve puts his pizza down, pushes it away. He’s lost his appetite. “I want to see him now,” He demands. “Please.”

Sam nods once, and stands. “Alright,” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay. C’mon, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is "Meant to Stay Hid" By SYML. It fits SO well with this story/chapter IMO!! Such a beautiful song.


	15. won't go down easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is finally allowed to see Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me!! :) we're getting there!!  
The song for this chapter is "Smoked out of heaven" by Saint Claire!
> 
> See the end of the chapter notes for translations <3

_"I've been smoked out of heaven_   
_And I'm too cold to melt when I'm thrown into hell_   
_I stay in-between them_   
_Well, I may not be a hero_   
_No one can tell, tell me I'm a dreamer_   
_And one day I won't be lying on the ground_   
_I won't go down easy_   
_May not be brave but I'm stubborn as hell"_

\- "Smoked out of Heaven" - Saint Claire 

* * *

When the doors of the elevator open to the floor where they were holding Bucky, Steve’s knees nearly buckle out from under him at the sight. 

He realizes, not for the first time, that he was dealing with something much larger than he and Bucky. This went beyond their love and into the realm of something that Steve wasn’t sure he was able to fully comprehend.

As he takes it all in, he gasps quietly, his heart sinking to his toes. 

It’s a high tech room, full of holographic and screens, SHIELD operatives and office personnel alike buzzing around the space. In the center of the room was a four-sided glass box, lit up by bright lights, with a single chair, with Bucky sitting stiffly in it. 

And so there he was, tied to a chair and locked in a holding cell-like a rabid animal, breathing hard against the headpiece that Sam had warned Steve about. 

It covered his mouth and came up around the back of his head, with little sticky bits that were attached to his skull, presumably monitoring his brain waves. It looked every bit as scary as Sam warned him about. 

Bucky’s eyes were so dark, so full of hatred, that Steve was afraid to meet them. He had done this--he had led Bucky to be here, strapped up like this. It was his fault.

Clint, Nat, Sam, and Tony stood around the glass cell, watching Bucky with mixtures of horror, pity, and fear. There were cameras covering every inch of the room, and SHIELD agents guarding the doors. There was no semblance of privacy or dignity for Bucky. 

Steve doesn’t know what happens to his legs, they have a mind of their own, and before he knows it he’s at the door of the cell. 

“Let me in,” he whispers, his eyes not leaving Bucky. He presses his uncasted hand to the glass, feeling the coolness of it. Something in the glass ripples at his touch, like a forcefield of some sort, holding Bucky in. 

Bucky’s dark eyes flash to meet his, and Steve sees no recognition there, nothing but predatory gleam and hatred. 

Anger, maybe. Maybe even fear. 

No one answers him, the silence thick in the room, the only sound Bucky’s muffled panting. 

The business in the space seems to slow down and stop. Everyone has their eyes on Steve’s back--the nameless, scrawny blond boy who was demanding to be locked in the glass cage with the known assassin. 

Steve doesn’t care about anything except getting closer, he doesn’t care about the gazes boring into his back or the muffled whispers that are starting up behind him. 

“Let me in.” He repeats louder, his voice nearly a yell. “Bucky? Can you hear me?”

Bucky’s eyes flick up to his, and something in them changes. Something in them goes a little _ soft. _

“Hell no, you aren’t going in there alone--” Clint takes a few steps forward, about to tug Steve away, but Sam grabs him to stop him. 

“Wait, man. Just look.” Sam urges, his voice ringing with authority. Steve is grateful to him, in that moment. 

“Hi, Buck,” Steve murmurs, hands pressed against the glass, ignorant of anything going on behind or around him, all of his attention focused on Bucky. He presses his forehead to the cool surface, wanting to be as close as possible. “It’s me.” 

The Soldier’s eyes rake over him, but he can’t speak--his mouth is covered by a black muzzle, and Steve wants to have _ words _with whoever did that. His eyes stay dark.

“It’s Steve,” Steve reminds him gently, “I’m not going to hurt you; actually, I want to get in there so that I can take that thing off your mouth. It doesn’t look very comfortable, and I’d like for you to be able to speak.” 

Bucky glares at him, hard, but his fingers relax out of his fists. He flexes them, the plates in his metal arm whirring and adjusting. 

“Let me in,” Steve pleads again, finally looking over his shoulder at Clint and Natasha, who hover by the control panel for the cell. 

Natasha’s face is sympathetic but guarded. She looks like she hasn’t gotten any rest since they brought Bucky off the jet, with deep bags under her eyes. 

“He can’t hurt me, he’s tied up; and you guys are _ right _ there. Please, or else we’ll never get through to him, it _ has _ to be me.” 

“I told him he could,” Stark pipes up cheerily, sounding like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Anyone got popcorn?” 

“Steve,” Natasha sighs, shooting a glare at Tony. “Not today. It’s too soon, he needs time.” 

“Now is the _ only _ time,” Steve argues. He won’t budge on this, he can’t let himself. “If not now, he’ll never trust me, and you won’t get anything out of him.”

“Sam, no--” Natasha protests, but Sam presses the button with a quick slam of fingers and a passcode, and the door slides open just enough to let him through. 

Steve dashes in before someone can pull him away, not wasting a second. The door closes with a bang behind him again, echoing with a sense of finality. 

He feels everyone behind him hold their breath, complete silence filling the room, so much so that Bucky’s laboured breathing seems impossibly loud in comparison. 

“Okay,” Steve begins, feeling suddenly nervous. Everyone was watching him--them. Everything was riding on this, his ability to ground Bucky. He’d done it a few times before, and he could do it again. He had to ignore his audience. The only thing that mattered was he and Bucky. 

He stays pressed against the wall, hands up, fingers spread in the universal sign of surrender. He didn’t want to appear like Bucky’s captor, like the person who’d hurt him. He didn’t know where Bucky was regarding his headspace, but Steve was pretty sure Bucky didn’t immediately recognize him as the good guy.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Steve promises, keeping his voice even and earnest. “I’m not sure I could, even if I wanted to, even with you tied up, but. I would never want to. _ Never, _Buck. If you think hard enough about it, you already know that.” He explains quietly--his words were for Bucky alone, not the eager onlookers, “And I know you don’t want to hurt me, either.” 

Bucky looks away for a moment, at the floor, then he stares back up at Steve. His face is hard to read, half of it covered by the headpiece. His eyes are hard and pale, like fortified steel. It sends a shiver through Steve’s spine.

“Can I come closer? I would like to take that mask off so you can talk.” 

Bucky watches him. He doesn’t nod yes or no. His face doesn’t change, and Steve tries not to let the worry in--he’d done this before. He could do it again. 

He had to get Bucky to trust him. He _ had _to.

“I don’t know how much you remember,” Steve murmurs, voice soft. “I know that...you’ve been through a lot, in the past few hours. And I’m sorry for that, but. I’ll give you the Sparknotes version, yeah? A little refresher. Maybe it’ll jog your memory.” 

Bucky waits. He doesn’t blink.

“Okay, uh. My name is Steve Rogers. We used to be...roommates, I guess? When you were a ghost. Well, not a ghost, really, but kind of. See, while you were in cryo with the bad guys--Hydra--your spirit would come back to your apartment, the apartment that I bought a few months ago. Do you remember?” 

Bucky’s eyes twitch, and Steve continues, not waiting to hear confirmation. “You’ve come to visit me a few times since you’ve been out of cryo. I know you were there, even when I couldn’t see you--I know you got extra blankets for me, when I was sick, and I...I think you held my hand that one time, through a nightmare. Even though you didn’t fully remember me, a part of you wanted me to be okay. And I’m telling you, Buck, _ all _ of me wants you to be okay, too. That’s all I’ve wanted since I met you.” 

Something in Bucky’s face softens, Steve thinks. It could be a trick of the light, but he chooses to believe it’s not. It gives him hope. 

He steps a little closer again. “You took care of me, when I was in the apartment,” Steve explains gently. “I know you might not remember right now, but you made sure I was safe. You made me tea and kept the bad guys away and you--you made me feel like I was somethin’ precious.” Steve blinks, and a small tear falls out, surprising him. He didn’t think he had any tears left after the past few days.

He had to make Bucky believe him, if he wanted to bring Bucky back, he’d have to bear his soul for him and the twenty other people in the room. 

“We became friends,” Steve explains quietly, giving Bucky a trembling smile. “And we learned about each other’s favourite colours and foods we didn’t like, and we talked about your family and about the war,” Steve murmurs. “And eventually...Buck, we fell in love.” There it was, the confession, the truth, the heavy weight of what was between them laid naked for Bucky and a room of strangers to stare at, to deal with. Their love. “It was enough for us to just talk, y’know? Because we couldn’t touch, and we couldn’t go on dates, or leave the apartment at all--and no one else could see you or hear you but me,” Steve remembers the wishing, the desperation that some miracle would happen and he’d feel Bucky’s hands on him. Now that that was a real possibility, something they could have, it felt far away again. SHEILD would never let them have peace. 

“But then we merged your subconscious and the Winter Soldier, and...well, here you are.” Steve swallows. There is complete silence and stillness behind him. “I know you’re confused right now, and you might not even know who I am, but believe me, Buck, you’re going to be alright.” 

Bucky tilts his head a little, like something Steve was saying was getting through to him.

“James,” Steve whispers, as tenderly as he can, “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and the fact that we get the chance to fight for us, for _ our _ happy ending--that is...the greatest blessing I think I will ever know in this life.” Steve inhales shakily, more tears sliding down his cheeks without his approval. “So, can I please take off your mask? So we can talk?” 

There is a long pause, where Steve thinks he won’t get an answer again--and he won’t touch Bucky without his consent, not after what he saw in the file--but Bucky twitches his head once, nodding. 

“Okay,” Steve says, relieved. They were getting somewhere. “Okay. I’m going to move slowly. About 5 steps, and then I’m going to undo the clasps. But I’ll be gentle, and I’ll go slow. No sudden movements.”

“Steve,” Natasha warned carefully, her voice sounding mechanical over the comm on the wall of the cell. It echoed. “Not a good idea. We’re in the middle of testing his brain waves, you’re going to interrupt the feed.” 

Bucky’s eyes flash to where she is standing on the other side of the glass, but Steve begins to move slowly, towards Bucky. “Don’t worry about them,” Steve whispers. “It’s just you and me here, okay? I know you won’t hurt me. I trust you. And you can trust me, too. I’m not scared. And their stupid testing can wait a bit.” 

“This ought to be good,” Stark mused behind them. Steve tuned everyone out.

“One,” Steve counts, taking a step. “Two,” he counts each pace, and when he reaches five and is right beside Bucky, he stops. “I’m going to put my hand near yours so that you can squeeze my fingers if I do something you don’t like,” Steve murmurs. He moves slowly, making his intentions obvious. “My hands are a lot smaller than yours, and I just broke my wrist not long ago, so--you’re going to have to be gentle, or...or you might accidentally hurt me. I know you don’t want to hurt me.” 

As soon as their hands are close enough to touch even with the handcuffs restricting Bucky’s movement, Bucky reaches up like a drowning man and grasps Steve’s fingers in his flesh ones, being careful of the cast. At the contact, Steve falls to his knees, his wobbly legs finally giving up on him.

Bucky hands were gentle but firm, a comfortable grip that said he _ trusted _Steve. It was an eager kind of contact, one that only proved to Steve how touch-starved Bucky really was, and that some part of him, no matter how deep down it was, trusted Steve and wanted to be careful with him.

Natasha rushes at the cell, yelling his name, but again, Sam stops her, wrapping an arm around her waist to halt her in her tracks. “Just look, Nat,” Sam urges, voice sharp. “Barnes isn’t hurting him.” 

Natasha doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t barge in, either. There is a stillness behind Steve, as everyone waits. 

Steve was at his knees by Bucky’s chair. Bucky was still strapped in, but he had Steve’s hand in his, his real, _ flesh and blood _ hand, and it felt _ safe. _

Steve didn’t think he’d ever be able to take their skin on skin contact for granted, not after pining pitifully after that very thing he once thought unreachable. 

He knew every touch was a heaven-sent gift, a dream that had come true for them. When Steve fell in love with Bucky, it was enough just to have his voice, low and sweet in his ear, and his crooked smile. Touching wasn’t even something Steve dared to let himself think about--and yet, the universe had granted them this mercy. The mercy of _ touch. _

Bucky didn’t squeeze too hard or too tightly, he was gentle, so gentle that it had to be a deliberate and conscious effort on Bucky’s part. 

Bucky’s thumb hesitates, but it strokes slowly circles on Steve’s hand, like Steve knew Bucky would, like he always had whenever they’d touched, the few times they’d been able.

Steve lets his head fall, too tired to lift it, and he lets himself have this, if only for a few moments. He pressed his forehead into Bucky’s elbow, and let a few sobs escape his lips. 

“Buck,” he chokes out brokenly. “It’s you, it’s _ you _.” 

Behind them, Sam, Natasha, and Clint watched with wide eyes. Steve can feel their eyes bore in his back, tracking their every moment. The moment was intimate, but it wasn’t private in the slightest. 

Bucky seems to notice that too--his eyes flick up to their audience. 

“Don’t worry about them,” Steve urges, looking back up to Bucky’s face. “It’s just you and me in here, that’s all that matters.” 

Bucky looks at him again and nods once. 

“Bucky,” Steve says softly. “I’m going to take off your mask now.” 

Bucky closes his eyes, as if bracing himself. Steve reaches up with one hand, still keeping the other one firmly in Bucky’s and with deft fingers, frees the clasp. One side falls loose, and then the other. The mask clatters to the floor, startlingly loud in the otherwise loaded silence. The wires and complicated parts of it twitch once and then go lifeless. 

Steve isn’t sure what he expects to be behind the mask; a bloody lip, a grimace with sharp teeth? 

But when the mask drops, and Steve blinks up at Bucky’s face, all he sees are the pink, full lips he remembered from his apartment, from the motel, from hungry kisses--if only a little chapped and sad. 

“That’s better,” Steve murmurs. Bucky wets his lips, continuing to stare down at Steve. His thumb stills against Steve’s hand, but he doesn’t let Steve’s fingers go. 

“Do you remember me?” Steve asks, trying not to let the desperation sink into his voice. “Tell me where your head is, Buck, so I can help you. Tell me what you need.” 

Bucky’s brow twitches. “Steve.” he mumbled. His voice is huskier and deeper than Steve remembered; maybe it was from going a longer period of time without talking. “Steven Grant Rogers. Stevie.”

“That’s right,” Steve nods eagerly. “You call me lotsa things, Buck. Steve, Stevie, doll, kitten, sweetheart, ace…”

“Punk,” Bucky supplied, like he had just remembered that. He gives Steve a secret smile, and Steve’s heart lights up at the sight. Bucky had the most dazzling smile Steve had ever seen. 

“It smiles?” Stark muses behind them. 

“Shuddup,” Clint snorts. The silence relapses. 

Bucky was coming down, becoming more grounded. _ This _ was all he fucking needed--he just needed someone to talk to him like he was a _ person, _rather than a machine. He needed a reminder that he was human. Steve was willing--eager--to be that reminder for as long as Bucky needed it. 

“What else do you remember?”

“Ты был моим,” Bucky whispers, breathing shakily. “Моя любовь.”

Steve hears Natasha let out a shaky breath from the other side of the glass. “He remembers,” She breathes. “He’s remembering Steve.” 

“English,” Steve reminds Bucky desperately, telling himself he’d get Rosetta Stone and learn Russian one of these goddamn days so he wouldn’t have to be one step behind the conversation. “What did you say, Buck? _ Do _ you remember me?” 

“I said,” Bucky clears his throat. He looks embarrassed, eyes flickering up to their audience and then back down to Steve, voice low.. “I said, ‘you were mine’.” He clenches his jaw, his confused eyes searching desperately in Steve’s own. “I think you were mine, Steve.” 

Steve bites down hard on his bottom lip to keep from sobbing. “You’re back,” Steve sniffles, smiling through his tears. Bucky remembered him. Every time Steve thinks he’s going to lose Bucky all over again, they find a way back to each other, like magnets. They were inevitable, they would always fall into the other for as long as time went on. “You’re here.”

“Don’t cry,” Bucky begs, like it physically pains him to witness. He strains gently against his handcuffs as if itching to get rid of them. “I’m so sorry, Steve. Everything. Everything is a mess.” 

And Bucky is right, because it _ is _a mess. Everything was shot to hell because Bucky was in a glass cage handcuffed to a chair and everyone in the room besides Steve thought he damn well deserved to be there. 

Steve was just a person, and an unremarkable one at that. He didn’t know how he’d get Bucky out of the cell and back into his arms for good. He didn’t have any power here, in this high-tech room with these important and powerful people.

“I know,” Steve breathes. “It’s all my fault.” 

“No,” Bucky frowns deeply. “No, hey, don’t say that. This is...this had to happen, sooner or later. Just c’mere.” Bucky gestures with his head for Steve to come closer. 

Steve feels like a child, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that a whole room of professionals and superheroes are watching. He wanted Buck close, and would take the opportunity to get it where he could. He was pretty sure Bucky was probably itching for some comforting touch, too.

Without hesitating, Steve climbs unsteadily into Bucky’s lap, curling up there like it was the only place in the world he belonged. 

“I’m scared,” Steve whispers into Bucky’s neck, his casted arm wrapping around Bucky’s neck to hug him tight. “I’m really scared.”

“Don’t cry,” Bucky begs again. “It’ll be okay, Stevie. I’m back. I’m right here--I didn’t leave you, right? Did I? Told you I’d always find a way back to you.” 

“I don’t want anyone to hurt you,” Steve sniffles, trying to force the tears to stop. He felt pathetic. All he’d done was cry for days on end. He didn’t know how he had any tears left to give. 

The dog tags around Steve’s neck press against his chest when he hugs Bucky closer, a reminder that he had always had a part of his lover with him.

“No one can hurt me as long as no one hurts you,” Bucky tells him, as though it’s a grand secret and not just the smooth words of Bucky Barnes coming out to play, ever the charmer. Putting on a brave face for Steve, not letting him see how scared he really was. 

“I don’t know how long they’ll let me stay,” Steve admits, feeling that every second was fleeting, that they wouldn’t let Bucky have Steve’s comfort for long. He could feel his friends getting antsy behind his back, eager to get him out of the cell and away from the Winter Soldier.

Bucky presses his nose into Steve’s hair, and with a hard twitch of muscle and a whirr of the metal arm, snaps free of the high tech handcuffs to wrap his arms around Steve. He does it easily enough, proof that he could have freed himself at any point, really. 

“Safety breach,” Natasha barks. “Get Steve out of there.” 

“Nat,” Sam hisses, clearly annoyed. “Just relax for two fucking seconds. Does that look like a man who wants to hurt Steve to you? You said it yourself that he was remembering.”

“Sam’s right,” Clint urges, his voice more gentle than Sam’s. He and Natasha had a bond that Steve didn’t fully understand, but was thankful for in the moment. If anyone could get through to Nat, it was Clint. “Steve is perfectly safe.”

Natasha is quiet for a long beat. “Yeah,” She says, and something in her voice makes Steve believe she’s finally seeing things in the light he’d been wanting her to this entire time. There is a tone of realization in her voice, as if she was just noticing the tenderness with which Bucky held Steve, or the strength of their bond. “Yeah. You’re right.” 

“Steve,” Sam calls. “You two alright in there?”

Steve doesn’t lift his head from Bucky’s neck. It’s bulky, and awkward hugging with a cast from wrist to elbow, but it feels right anyway. “F-fine,” he sniffles. Bucky is rubbing slow circles on his back, his cheek pressed to Steve’s head, not caring at all who was watching the tender display. “I want to stay.” 

“You can’t stay, doll,” Bucky sighs into his hair. “Now that I’m...well, _ me, _ again, I got some stuff to tell these guys. They had a lot of questions. The sooner I do that, the sooner we can do more of _ this, _” He hugs Steve a fraction tighter. 

“Yeah,” Tony speaks up, for the first time in what feels like hours but wasn’t more than twenty minutes. “We do.” 

Steve feels Bucky stiffen under him, but his hand doesn’t stop in his slow, comforting touches. “I don’t want you to be alone with them,” Steve admits secretly, for only Bucky’s ears. “I don’t know if I trust them.” 

“I don’t trust them either,” Bucky sighs softly. His fingers trace the length of Steve’s cast. “They hurt you.” 

“That was an accident,” Steve concedes. “_I’m _safe, but you...I don’t know. What Nat did to you--”

“Let’s not talk about that right now,” Bucky pleads. “Don’t be stubborn, Steve. This is how things have to be for a while. I’m going to answer some questions, and maybe you can come see me in the morning. It’s got to be ‘round dinner time, you should eat something. You haven’t had a decent meal in too long.” 

“What about you? When was _ your _last decent meal?” Steve accuses. 

“We’ll feed him, Rogers,” Sam calls out, sounding mildly annoyed. “I _ told _you, we were civil.”

Steve didn’t know how much he believed that. He felt feral and protective of Bucky, wanting to snap at anyone who came close. He strokes his hands through Bucky’s hair, the roots damp with sweat from his earlier exertions. “You think we’ll be okay?” he asks. 

Bucky presses a quick, secretive kiss to Steve’s temple. “Sure do,” He answers cheerily. It’s an act, and a good one at that, but Steve can still see through it. “I think the universe owes us one.”

“Damn fuckin’ right,” Steve scoffs. Unwillingly, he peels himself off of Bucky. Bucky lets Steve free of his embrace, but holds onto Steve’s uncasted hand for a lingering moment, giving him a meaningful look. 

“Don’t take this out on your friends,” Bucky begs him, turning the full force of those wise eyes on Steve. “Try not to piss off the entire world or break any more bones ‘till I see you next time.” 

He earns a grin for that one, and a classic Stevie-eye-roll. “Promise,” Steve says extra sweetly, and Bucky lets go of his hand. The loss of contact makes Steve miss Bucky already. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Steve says, almost sounding like a threat. 

“Tomorrow,” Bucky nods. His face is hard to read--a little sad, a little worried, but mostly reserved, hiding things from Steve that he doesn’t want him to see. “See you then.” 

They don’t say _ I love you, _but Steve thinks that it doesn’t need to be said, just then, in a room full of people who already witnessed just how compromised they were for each other. Steve felt Bucky’s love, and Bucky felt his, and they didn’t have to use words to communicate. 

The cell doors slide open to let Steve out, and shut again behind him. Bucky, uncuffed, easily could have slid out and made a clean getaway, but he sits, pliant, watching Steve’s back with calm, soft eyes. 

Steve feels endlessly guilty for turning his back on Bucky, but he was right. 

There were things that needed to be done that would hopefully get them closer to their happy ending. 

***

Bucky isn’t human, isn’t _ real-- _until Steve walks in. And then he is Alive. Then he Remembers. 

Steve leaves him reluctantly, hesitating every step of the way, until Sam slings an arm over Steve’s frail shoulders and leads him out. The blond casts one, regretful look over his shoulder at Bucky, and Bucky winks at him. It works--Steve smiles back and leaves a little easier.

It was worth it, to be brave for Steve. 

“You ready to answer our questions, soldier?” Stark arches one of his dark brows at Bucky. The silence that had accumulated in the room breaks when Steve leaves, and everyone quickly picks back up on what they were working on, though they regard Bucky with curious eyes, perhaps having seen him in a new light had changed their perspective; the killer they knew had held a 90 pound asthmatic blond in his arms as tenderly as if he were a kitten. 

Bucky didn’t much care what they thought one way or the other. The only opinion that mattered was Steve’s. 

“You can call me Barnes.” Bucky suggests. “Or Bucky. Just--please. Not that.” 

Bucky had to give Stark credit--he actually looked a little guilty. “Right,” He clears his throat. “We’ll have someone bring you to the interrogation room shortly.” 

“I won’t make a scene,” Bucky promises, bowing his head. They were afraid of him, of what he could do. He had to make himself less threatening. “Sorry for snapping the handcuffs.” 

Tony grins at him, all teeth. “Don’t worry about it. They were only a couple million. No biggie.” 

Bucky blanches. Money really was no object for Stark.

The Widow rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed. Bucky could tell that she had a begrudging love for Stark despite how often he noticed her getting annoyed by his antics. 

“See you in there, stabby-stab,” Tony says cheerily with a little wave, and practically skips out of the room. Hawkeye--Clint--follows him dutifully, and soon it’s just Bucky and the Widow left.

“Sasha,” She speaks up, walking closer to the glass. He waits for her to add more, but she doesn’t. She watches him with her cool gaze. Her eyes had seen many things. 

“Natalia,” He greets her evenly.

They stare at each other. There was a rich history between them, but not a pretty one. Bucky didn’t remember everything about his time with Hydra, but he remembered training a tiny redhead with a feisty temper and wild eyes. She was a little slip of a thing at first, barely Steve’s weight. Just a kid desperate for his approval. 

She did everything she could to gain his affections. He remembered her always volunteering first, always pushing the hardest, always fighting back even when she was exhausted. 

She looked up to him, as Hydra’s most valued Asset. 

She wanted to be valued, too.

And it worked--the Winter Soldier, as cold as he was, was impressed by her. She showed promise, and he liked that. He liked that she understood him without having to use words and in a way, he was protective of her. Maybe subconsciously, Natalia reminded him of Becca--they had the same fight in their souls, the same sharp smiles.

“What a strange twist of fate that has brought us here,” she says finally, with an amused twist of her mouth.

“A twist of fate that goes by the name _ Steve,” _He agrees, eyebrows raised. “We’re both here for him.” 

“I’m here because it’s my job,” She corrects. 

“No,” Bucky disagrees. It had been many years, and many wipes ago, but he knows her better than she thinks. The memories were always there, under the surface. He just had to reach for them. “If you were just doing your job, I’d be 6 feet under with a bullet between my eyes.” 

“Maybe that’s true,” She concedes, arching a brow. “You’re alive because Steve wanted you to be.” 

“He’s a hard person to say no to,” Bucky grumbles, knowing all too well the influence Steve’s bright eyes could have.

“I suppose.” 

She was brushing him off, not letting him _ see _her. Protecting herself, perhaps. He was like her big brother once, and then he’d been locked up in cryo. 

He’d left her in the clutches of Hydra, perhaps when she needed him most. He used to look out for her, though he’d never let his handlers know it. Sneak her extra weapons, extra food. Ruffle her hair, nudge her shoulder, snap at anyone who was too hard on her. 

Maybe she’d never forgive him for leaving. 

“You’re as equally gone for him, I can tell,” Bucky smiles softly. “I’m glad he’s got friends who care so much.” He was still a little peeved at Wilson for hurting Steve, and he didn’t trust the Avengers not to say his trigger words again, but. They were good to Steve, for the most part, and that is what mattered. 

Natalia gives him a wry smile, leaning her hip against the cell door. “Not in the same way that you are, солдат,” In a softer tone, she admits: “But yes. I do love him, very much.” 

“He has a way about him,” Bucky agrees, voice getting softer. When Natalia called him _ soldat _was different than anyone else calling him ‘soldier’. It was between them, a nickname, a familiar pattern of their companionship. “It’s hard not to love him. Impossible, even. Он крадет сердца.” 

Natalia snorts at that. “You’re right there,” She replies in English. Her smile falls as her eyes get distant. “I don’t know if he’ll be able to forgive me for any of this.” 

“I forgive you,” Bucky tells her easily, and means it. “And we both know that Steve’s got a much bigger heart than me. So long as you promise never to use those words again.” 

“I don’t make promises,” Natalia says almost absently, like it was an automatic phrase she dolled out at the request. “But I will avoid it at all costs, if possible. Unless you threaten my team’s safety, or Steve’s, then all bets are off.” 

She was a slippery one, and always had been, but Bucky knew her well enough to remember her soft heart. It was just buried deep. “He’ll come around,” Bucky promises. “He’s stubborn. You know that.” 

“As a bull,” Natalia agrees with a sigh. She gives Bucky a curious look. “How are you thinking of playing this one out, Sasha?” 

He shrugs. He hadn’t thought of a specific plan, really. He was planning on living day to day, take the punches as they come. “I’ll do what I have to.” 

“You planning an escape?” 

“I wouldn’t leave Steve behind,” He says with complete honesty. He had no reason to lie. “And I can’t be with him in the way he deserves if I’m a fugitive of the law. So I gotta clear my name.” 

“How noble.”

“Yeah, well. He’s not going to give up and I’m too fuckin’ selfish to really want him to, so. Here we are. Guess step one is becoming a little more like the man he thinks I am,” Bucky tells her softly. “The good man. The honest one.” 

“I told him many times that you weren’t.” She says, with no hint of remorse. “Maybe I spoke prematurely.” 

“Maybe you didn’t.” 

She hesitates, pursing her lips. “I’d like it if you proved me wrong, I think.” Bucky sees how much effort it takes her to admit that. “For Steve’s sake.” She turns on her heel and silently drifts out of the room. 

“Me too,” Bucky whispers to the empty cell. 

He watches her go, remembering when her hands were so small they held onto one of his fingers as he walked her back to her dormitory after private training sessions. He wasn’t supposed to touch her--things were meant to be clinical between them, master-student. But she’d tilt her head and give him a brave little nod, and on that tiny face it just looked so wrong that even the Winter Soldier, programmed as he was back then, would tuck her hair behind her ear and lightly touch her nose. 

“_Спи спокойно, маленькая вдова,” _ he’d tell her. “ _ Завтра будет лучше _.” 

She had grown up without his supervision, his guidance. He was a broken man then--and still was today--but he had been on her side, when no one else was. 

And then he’d left her, and she had gone to dark places. 

He was glad to see her now, doing the right thing, fighting on the right side, with friends that loved her. When Natalia was at Steve’s, and Bucky was just a ghost, he’d watch her curiously, something tugging at his memory, though he wasn’t sure exactly what. 

It was pride. He was proud of the way she laughed loudly with Steve, curled up barefoot on his sofa and leaned into his hugs. 

He couldn’t take credit for any of it, but he was still _ proud. _He knew it hadn’t come easily, and now, it gave him hope that he’d be able to heal in the same ways.

“Mr. Barnes,” A polite British voice interrupts over the speakers. “A SHIELD agent will be with you momentarily to escort you to the interrogation room. What would you like for dinner?” 

Bucky squints at the air. It was hard to talk to someone without a face or body attached to them. He hadn’t been expecting a choice of meals, just some prison slop or, Hydra's favourite, bland protein shakes that tasted like chalk.

“Can I have anything I want?” He asks curiously. 

The voice hesitates. “Within reason, Sir.” 

Bucky’s stomach rumbles, and he knows exactly what he wants. “Three cheeseburgers, extra pickles. Rootbeer. Kale salad with cranberries. And,” he hesitates. “A peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” 

“Absolutely, Mr. Barnes. That will be ready for you momentarily.” 

“Thanks,” Bucky says. “Uh--one more thing?” 

“Yes?” 

“Can you make sure that Steve Rogers has a proper meal? None of that ramen stuff and no raw fish. He needs _sustenance_.” 

He thinks the robot might be laughing at him, something in its voice sounds amused. “Yes, sir. I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Thanks, robot,” Bucky says dryly. 

“You are very welcome, Mr. Barnes.” 

***

“You can stay here,” Sam unlocks the door and steps inside, holding it open for Steve. “It’s a guest suite. We’ve got lots of ‘em, but this one has the best view.” 

Steve’s jaw drops and the feeling of _ space _. Unlike his apartment, this was all open concept, save for the door and had an entire wall of glass that contained the view Sam had promised, the New York skyline all light up like twinkling stars. It was beautiful but alien. 

“I could just go back to my apartment,” Steve hedges. “I don’t wanna impose--”

“Fridge and shelves are already stocked,” Sam rolls his eyes. “You really ought to stay. ‘Sides, this way you can get to Bucky a lot faster. You won’t have to Uber across town, and...if something happens, and we need you here quickly....” 

“Right.” Steve nods. He’d have to stay here until they figured out what was next for Bucky. If he had another episode or something happened, Steve needed to be able to be with him immediately. His apartment is too much of a commute for that kind of access, and honestly, it would just feel empty and depressing without Bucky there anyway. Best he stays here for now. 

“I’m just a few floors away,” Sam tells him, leaning against the door frame with his arms folded easily over his broad chest. “The elevator in this room will take you to any of the floors, including mine, Nat’s and Clint's, if you enter the security code. You remember it, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, running a hand back through his hair. He adjusts his glasses higher up on his nose, a little clumsily because of the cast. “I remember.” 

His mind was clouded with too much new information, but he was confident he’d be able to get to his friends. He knew all the variations of the security codes that would give him access to their floors. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Rogers,” JARVIS interrupts over the speaker in the apartment. His voice seems to come from every corner of the room, rather than one specific place. “If I may interrupt?”

“JARVIS,” Sam addresses, not at all startled or perturbed by the voice. It--uh, _ he _\--, Steve supposes, still made Steve jump when it came unexpectedly. “What is it? Is it Barnes?” 

“Not exactly,” JARVIS concedes, sounding hesitant. “Mr. Barnes is in good health, currently watching _ The Bachelor _from the television in his cell.” 

Steve blanches at that, mouth hanging open. Of course Bucky would love trash TV. Sam cackles, looking like he’s about to say more, but JARVIS continues. “However, I recently spoke with Mr. Barnes, and he has requested I see to it that Mr.Rogers be provided a full meal, with no raw fish and no ramen.” 

Steve honest to God _ giggles _ at that--it was just so _ Bucky _to be grumbling to an AI about making sure Steve ate a proper meal that didn’t include sushi. It makes his stomach flutter happily to see the little things about Bucky coming back. It gave him some reassurance that they’d be okay.

Even Sam grins toothily at that. “Alright, J,” Sam snorts. “We’ll get something ordered. Don’t worry ‘bout it. You can reassure Barnes that his boy is in good hands.” 

“Very well, sir. I will do that.” 

Sam arches a brow at Steve. “So? What do you feel like, man? It’s on me, obviously, I think I owe ya one for..._ that.” _he gestures to Steve’s hand. 

“You’re lucky I was swinging with both arms, and you just so _ happened _to catch the left one. If you got my right hand you’d be so screwed.” Steve sneers playfully, but can’t hide a smile. At least now he can still draw. The doctor said he’d have the cast for 4-6 months, but since it was his left it shouldn’t impact his mobility too much. “And I actually think I’d rather cook, if I have stuff here to do it.” 

He kicks off his shoes and opens the fridge, eyebrows raising in surprise. It was fully stocked with what looked like fresh, organic veggies, bottles of green juice, orange juice and milk, and some more exotic ingredients that Steve didn’t even recognize. Was that _ dragon fruit? _“Yeah, that should do it.” 

“If you’re sure,” Sam allows. “I also had your meds sent up, so your inhaler and other stuff should all be in the medicine cabinet, but let me know if you’re missing anything.” 

Steve gives him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Sam,” He says honestly. “You’re the best.” 

“Does that mean you forgive me?” He points to Steve’s arm. “For that?” Steve felt like they had talked this subject to death, but he knew Sam was clearly still riddled with guilt; it was written all over his features.

Steve raises his cast in the air. “It was an accident,” He shrugs. “You didn’t mean to. I know...I know things have been weird between us lately, with everything going on. But I know you’re doing your best. And I am, too. So we’re okay, right?” 

Sam ruffles Steve’s hair playfully. “Yeah, man. We’re good. Just promise you’re going to get some rest tonight. Tomorrow is going to be another long day.” 

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “Figured.” 

“You want me to stick around?” 

Steve looks up at him apologetically. “Actually, I think I’d just like some alone time, if you don’t mind.” 

Sam holds up his hands. “I don’t mind at all. I’ve got some work to do myself, but I’ve got my cell on me, and so do Nat and Clint, if you need either one of us.”

“Thanks. Hey--Sam?” 

Sam pauses, his hand on the door. “Yeah?” 

“Bucky is going to get a bed, right?” 

“Of course he is, Steve. I told you, we’re not barbarians--”

“And no more muzzle-thing. Find another way to measure his brain.” 

Sam nods. “I’ll tell Stark.” He hesitates, seeing Steve’s face. “Anything else?” 

“No more trigger words,” Steve says firmly. He wouldn’t budge on that one. “That’s a deal breaker.”

“I think Nat knows that, now.” Sam hedges. 

“Tell her,” Steve begged, brows tight. He had to be sure, he couldn’t keep losing Bucky to Hydra programming, he couldn’t know that Bucky was in pain. “Please.” 

“Okay,” Sam concedes, scratching his neck. “I will, yeah. No more trigger words.” 

“Okay,” Steve echoes, feeling a little bit of tension seep out of his bones. He didn’t know how much authority Sam had on the matter, but he felt confident that Sam would take his demands to the right people and ensure they were respected. “Okay, Sam. Thanks.” 

Sam nods once, tightly. “Night, Rogers. Get some sleep.” 

“I will,” Steve lies, fingering the chains around his neck and wondering what Bucky was doing right now. “You, too.” 

“Yeah,'' Sam smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’d have another sleepless night, Steve knew. Then he shuts the door behind himself, and Steve is alone.

“JARVIS,” Steve clears his throat, waiting for a response. 

“Yes, sir. How can I assist you?” 

“Can you see to it that Bucky Barnes gets coffee tomorrow, with his breakfast? The good stuff, not instant. And...waffles?” He remembered Bucky ranting about waffles and missing coffee dearly. “With lots of syrup.” 

“Yessir. Consider it done.” JARVIS tells him cheerfully. 

Steve nods, a little bit of tension seeping from his body. He could end the day knowing Bucky was being looked after by an AI, if no one else. Steve hops up on the counter, remembering when Bucky would do the very same thing in the apartment, swinging his legs cheerily and watching Steve move about the space with a dopey smile on his face. 

They had come so far, learned so much about each other and love and life. Steve had felt heartbreak, white-hot anger, passion and glowing hope. He had come alive in ways that he didn’t think were ever possible for him after losing his mom. He was in love.

Bucky was probably still being interrogated, barraged with questions that he may or may not know the answers to. He had to be just as exhausted as Steve--probably more. When would he get to rest? 

What was going to happen to them? 

Best case scenario, Bucky gets out alive and unhurt, with his freedom. They can move back into the apartment, fall into bed with each other every night, and live happily ever after. It could be like a dream, the two of them against the world, sleeping in on Sunday mornings and watching trash reality TV. 

Steve would try to be enough for Bucky, with all of Bucky’s ambition and the charming smile, it would be a difficult task. Bucky could have anyone in the whole world, but he was with Steve, perhaps out of inevitability. When all of this was over, they’d have each other, and the whole future ahead. 

Is that what Bucky wanted? And even if he wanted it now, did that mean he would want it forever?

Would he want Steve forever?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ты был моим = you were mine  
Моя любовь = my love  
Он крадет сердца = he steals hearts  
Спи спокойно, маленькая вдова = sleep well, little widow  
Завтра будет лучше = tomorrow will be better


	16. without you things go hazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to look up for Steve and Bucky. A deal is struck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends!  
I hope everyone is staying safe during these crazy times, with COVID-19 and such. My university has been moved online, so I'm headed away from campus and back home to my mama and my dog :) silver linings, am I right?  
Anyway, even though this is a busy time for me (and I'm sure for many people!) I'm going to try to update this fic a little more often, so that while you guys are hanging out at home and practicing social distancing you have something to read!  
I hope you are all staying safe & of course, washing your hands. Sending my love to and yours!!

_ What if I fall, and hurt myself? _

_ Would you know how to fix me? _

_ What if I went, and lost myself? _

_ Would you know where to find me? _

_ If I forgot, _

_ who I am _ _ would you please remind me? _

_ Oh, 'cause without you things go hazy. _

_ -"Hazy", Rosi Golan _

* * *

In the morning, Steve revels in the high tech shower (complete with changing LED lights and a built-in speaker) and scrubs from head to toe. It feels good, to wash the last few days off, it makes him feel more human. He has to be careful of the cast, and it’s a little awkward washing his hair, but he figures it out. 

He makes some instant oatmeal for breakfast and an apple, and after hesitating, grabs a second apple to take with him for Bucky, and then a banana, too. Staring down at the two fruits, Steve knew that wouldn’t be enough for Bucky’s Enhanced metabolism. Was he eating enough?

He grabs a muffin and a yogurt cup for good measure and heads into the elevator, balancing the four things hazardously in his arms. 

The outfit that he’d put together from his fully-stocked closet was, admittedly, done because Steve thought Bucky would like it. 

It was a pale grey v-knit sweater, and light wash denim jeans that hugged his ass in a _ very _flattering manner, if he did say so himself. He’d even put a little gel in his hair. 

It was perhaps vain of him to do so, to dress up for Bucky who is locked away, but Steve wanted to feel that heavy gaze rake over him. He wanted to feel like a normal guy dressing up to see his normal boyfriend, even if that fantasy was far from reality. Nothing about their situation was normal.

Steve wanted to look good for Bucky. He didn’t want Bucky to realize that he could do _ so _ much better, no matter how selfish that was of him to desire. He wanted Bucky all to himself and if he had to dress up a little here or there as a feeble attempt at keeping Bucky around, then that was Steve’s toxic trait and he didn’t feel like sharing it with anyone. 

“JARVIS,” Steve says in the elevator. “Please take me to Bucky.” 

“Certainly, Mr. Rogers.” JARVIS replies promptly. The button for Bucky’s floor lights up, and the elevator plunges, past the main level and into the basement, so quickly it makes Steve’s head spin. 

“Mr. Rogers,” JARVIS pipes up, as the elevator doors open. “Please note that you have been granted access to visit Mr. Barnes unaccompanied and can exercise this right at any time of day you please.” 

Steve was surprised by that--he expected Natasha to be waiting for him to escort him. It seemed rather quick for a decision like that to be made, and it gave Steve hope. Perhaps Bucky wouldn’t be locked up forever. “Thank you, JARVIS. That’s good to know.” 

“Certainly, Mr. Rogers. Mr. Barnes is just in the cell down the hall and to the left.”

Steve follows JARVIS’s instructions and when he turns the corner, he can't help but smile. 

Bucky had been moved from the barren cell of yesterday that contained only one chair and nothing else, into something that looked like a hotel room, with glass walls all the way around. It was in a row of other, similar cells, but all were empty with the lights off, except for Bucky’s. 

It’s got a bed in one corner, a little desk and chair in the other, with a laptop that was open. Bucky looked too large for the small metal chair he was hunched over in, but adorable all the same. He had a steaming cup of coffee beside him, and a french press that held more. 

Steve hesitated a moment before going in, just watching Bucky sipping his coffee and browsing the web, such mundane tasks, yet something he’d never seen from him before. It was beautiful--everything about Bucky was. 

Steve nods at the guard who is dressed head to toe in tac gear standing watch. It seems a little excessive, considering the peaceful, barefoot state that Bucky is in, but Steve nods at him and flashes his ID card that grants him access to Bucky’s cell. The doors open for a flash, and then shut just as quickly behind him as Steve steps inside.

Bucky swivels his chair around and gives Steve a dazzling smile, that makes his breath want to hitch in his chest. There was a glow to Bucky’s face that hadn’t been there before. 

“Hey, champ. You look nice,” He sniffs the air delicately, and then gives Steve a curious look, arching one eyebrow up high. “Are you wearing cologne?” 

Steve blushes furiously, feeling suddenly stupid for trying to look nice. Bucky had seen him drooling, mouth open, he’d seen him naked and shivering from the cold, and sick as a dog with snot all over his face. Of course, he wouldn’t care what Steve looked like. They had bigger problems to deal with, and he was being stupid, and vain and--

“Y-Yeah,” He stammers, his ears going hot. He can’t meet Bucky’s gaze. He wanted run out of the cell and go change. “It’s stupid, I--”

“No,” Bucky cuts him off, his smile growing. “I like it.” 

Steve gives him an answering smile despite his embarrassment, and unfolds his arms from over his chest. “Brought you some...snacks.” He presents the small haul of breakfast foods for Bucky’s inspection. “In case you’re hungry.”

Bucky’s eyebrow lifts curiously. “You afraid they’re starvin’ me?” 

“A little.” 

Bucky snorts, but accepts the muffin and takes a bite, humming his approval.

“I’ve already had three stacks of belgian waffles,” Bucky explains with a mouth full. For someone supposedly raised in ‘the good old days’ where men were still gentlemen, he didn’t seem to care much about table manners. It was actually really endearing. He reminded Steve of the Beast slurping his soup at the grand dining table. “I think the big guys feel bad about locking me up yesterday or somethin’. Or maybe I’m being rewarded for good behavior.” 

Steve sits down on the edge of the bed. He was glad to hear that Bucky was being treated with at least a little bit of dignity after the events of yesterday. They were making progress. Muzzle, out, waffles, in. Steve could vibe with that. “How’re you doing today, Buck? You sleep alright?” 

Bucky shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee. Steve sees him savour it before swallowing it down. “Not great. Sleeping is...problematic,” He squints at the bed like the root of his restless night lay hidden in its sheets, which are perfectly straight and pulled taught, making Steve wonder if Bucky got into the bed at all. “I’m out of practice, after all. It will get easier, with time.” 

“Right,” Steve purses his lips. “M’glad you got your coffee.” 

“This is my fourth french press full of coffee,” Bucky says proudly, gesturing to the cup. “I just keep asking for more and they keep _ giving _it to me.” 

Steve’s jaw drops. “_Four? _That’s like what, how many cups--”

“I dunno, I think this is like my fifteenth cup,” Bucky shrugs, unbothered. “S’good stuff, though. Dark roast.”

Steve’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “_ Bucky!” _ he chastised. _ Fifteen cups of coffee, _ and it wasn’t even 10am yet. How long had Bucky been awake? Who was giving the _ okay _to just keep giving Bucky that much coffee? “That’s a lot of caffeine! I know not a lot of people worried ‘bout health back in your day the way they do now, but it’s really not good for your heart--”

“Steve,” Bucky interrupts with an eye roll, his voice full of fond-annoyance. “Please. I’m Enhanced. I can handle a lot more than this. It’s just coffee, not crack. It’s good for the soul. Do you know how long it’s been since I remember enjoying a good cup of coffee?” 

Steve narrows his eyes. “You’re also a one-hundred-year-old man. Maybe you ought to take it easy--there ain’t a lot of research on how long Enhanced people can live, and coffee sure as hell ain’t expanding your life expectancy.” 

“You worried ‘bout losing me?” Bucky teases, and Steve swallows, looking away. Bucky didn’t know how right he was. 

“Maybe,” Steve admits, trying to keep his tone as light-hearted as Bucky’s. He doesn’t know if he succeeds or not. 

Bucky frowns and opens his mouth as if to say something else, but Steve doesn’t want to let the conversation head in the more serious direction he’s afraid Bucky’s leaning towards, so he clears his throat and changes the subject.

“You got a pretty sweet set up in here,” Steve teases, trying to shift the mood. His chest felt heavy, and he needed some relief from the stress weighing him down--he had no idea what their next move could be, or how the hell he was going to get Bucky out of here. The questions kept piling up. “Whatcha doin’ on the laptop? Better not be watchin’ porn--these walls are glass, not a lot of privacy.” 

“Porn!” Bucky says, like he just realized that was a thing that the internet contained. “Ah, porn.” 

“You a fan?” Steve snorts, eyebrows raising. It was nice to see the playful side of Bucky come out, after everything they’d been through the past few days. 

“Never really watched it myself except over your shoulder,” Bucky arched his brow dangerously and gives Steve a flash of sharp teeth. “You’ve got some interesting tastes, Stevie.” 

_ “Bucky!” _ Steve gasps, scandalized, his heart flutters. _ No way. _ “You’re kidding! You did _ not _watch porn over my shoulder!” 

Bucky shrugs, clearly unbothered and unashamed. “I was bored. And curious.” 

“But I--” Steve blushes furiously. He had jerked off, he had shoved fingers deep inside himself and moaned obscenely, in the days before he knew Bucky was the mysterious presence he thought he’d been feeling in the house. And to think that Bucky promised he hadn’t been lurking! Steve blanches in embarrassment. “You _ said _you were a ghost, not a pervert! Your words!” 

Bucky finally looks apologetic, but there is still a glimmer of a dangerous _ something _in his eyes that reminds Steve a little of a hungry wolf. “S’not like I stuck around for the whole show. But I’m sorry, doll. Though you do look so pretty when you blush. And when you’re doing….other things,” Bucky winks. 

That just makes Steve blush harder, and look away to the ground. “You’re such a flirt,” he grumbles. “But I _ am _ glad to see you’re feeling more like yourself, even if you’re insufferable as always.” 

“I am,” Bucky confirms, giving him a softer smile. “Being with you helps. But no, I wasn’t watching _ porn, _Steve. I was googling stuff.” 

“What stuff?” 

Bucky frowns at Steve’s inquiry, looking a little shifty. “Private stuff.” 

Steve raises a brow, feeling challenged. “Sounds like porn to me.” 

“It’s _ not,” _Bucky defends, annoyed. He shrugs his broad shoulders heavily. “S’nothing.” 

Steve was a little suspicious--what could Bucky be looking at that he didn’t want Steve to see? It couldn’t be _ that _private if he trusted the SHIELD computer enough to use it, obviously, they were going to be tracking his search history. If it wasn’t porn, then what? 

“Better not be booking a flight to Hawaii to leave me as soon as you get out of here,” Steve mutters, only half-joking. He didn’t want there to be any secrets between them, especially about little things like internet history. He had no idea what Bucky could be looking at.

“If I’m going to Hawaii then you’re comin’ too, sweetheart,” Bucky tells him, with his most _ Bucky _smile. “Once I get out of here, we can see the whole wide world. I’m not confined to the apartment anymore--we can go anywhere.”

So it had already begun. Bucky was already yearning for more--more than the apartment, more than New York, and eventually, Steve knew, Bucky would want more than Steve. 

He’d been a ghost for 80 years, it was time that Bucky lived wildly. With that flirty smile, Steve was sure Bucky could probably charm half of the state out of their knickers, and why wouldn’t he? Hadn’t he earned it? The chance to mess around? 

Who was Steve to tie him down the minute he finally tasted freedom?

“Sure, Buck,” Steve says. His voice breaks a little, but he covers it with a cough.

“What about you?” Bucky prompts, changing the subject smoothly. “Did you sleep? Did you go home?” 

“Nah,” Steve shrugs, fiddling with Bucky’s dog tags that hung heavy around his neck. “They set me up in a guest suite so I could be closer to you. In case--”

“In case I go bat shit crazy.” 

“Well, yeah,” Steve says apologetically, offering a shy smile. “But you seem okay. You’re in high spirits, anyway, which is more than I expected. It’s nice to see._ ” _

“I feel good,” Bucky admits, shrugging his shoulders. He’s got a contemplative look on his face. “It’s weird to….to feel like _ me _ and have a body, but. I’m getting used to it more and more. And I like it. And they’re treating me pretty okay, so far.” Bucky takes another sip of coffee, and settles back into his chair.

“It _ is _a very nice body,” Steve compliments, batting his lashes and trying to lighten the mood. Maybe he could let himself have this, just hang on while he was still wanted and enjoy it. “I think I could get used to it too.” 

Bucky’s jaw drops and his eyes light up in the way that tells Steve he’s about to get some Grade A Bucky-Barnes-Teasing. He flashes his white teeth at Steve. Steve braces himself. 

“Steven Grant Rogers, are you actually _ flirting?” _

Steve’s face gets red, right up to the tips of his ears. “Uh--” 

“I think you are,” Bucky teases, grinning wickedly. “Stevie the _ flirt--” _

“Buck, don’t make fun of me--”

Bucky's smile gets a little softer, warmer, around the edges. “Relax, honey. I think it’s nice when you flirt. It’s very cute.” 

Steve glares at him, and Bucky only laughs harder. 

“If you’re just gonna sit there and _ laugh _at me Barnes you might as well pour me a cup of coffee,” Steve grumps. “At least caffeinate me for this abuse, for God’s sake.” 

Bucky keeps giggling, but he does pour Steve a cup, and adds milk and sugar, just the way Steve likes it, before handing it over. 

Their fingers brush, accidentally, and Steve feels suddenly shy, snatching his hand away like he’d been shocked. 

There was a strangeness between them, in the room, that had begun from the moment Steve walked in and felt impossibly larger now. The way Steve had been able to crawl into Bucky’s lap and make a home there felt far away now. 

He felt like a stranger sitting in Bucky’s space, like someone who didn’t belong. The odd one out. He hated it, the strangeness that had suddenly emerged between them. He didn’t know how to act around Bucky right now.

“You okay?” Bucky squints, picking up on Steve’s shifty mood. His face changes into something darker, something guilty. Steve sees the moment it clouds Bucky’s face. “Did I scare you?” 

Bucky was _ gorgeous. _ Olive skin, icy eyes, a jawline that was sharp enough to cut diamonds, and biceps thicker than Steve’s thighs. How could _ he, _Bucky, ever want someone like Steve? Even dressed up as he was, Bucky still outshone him a million to one while barefoot in medical scrubs with matted hair.

But scare him? Never. Steve had seen Bucky in his most detached moments, where he was all _ mission imperative _ and _ shoot first, ask questions never. _Steve had never been afraid.

“No!” Steve says quickly, knowing how much Bucky was afraid of scaring Steve off. He didn’t want to send Bucky into a needless spiral of self-loathing. “No, it’s nothing, Buck, honest.” 

“It’s something,” Bucky argues, pressing. He sets his coffee down and leans forward on his chair. “What it is, doll? Talk to me.” 

“It’s honestly nothin’, Buck. Just jumpy today, is all,” Steve says, throat going dry. “It’s been a long few days. I’m overwhelmed.”

Bucky promised that he would never leave him, but that promise was easy to keep when Steve was the only one who had ever shown him kindness, the only one who could hear him talk or see him. 

Things would change, soon. Steve would be left behind, and he didn’t think his heart was strong enough to bear that.

Bucky had told him once that it was an inevitability, that he fell in love with Steve. That he just couldn’t help it. 

But wouldn’t Steve also fall in love with the first person to _ see _ and _ hear _him and be kind to him in 80 years? Wouldn’t it be inevitable because of circumstance, not chemistry? 

“Sweetheart,” Bucky says, worried. He moves to sit beside Steve on the bed, and cups Steve’s cheeks in his large flesh hand to force Steve to look at him. The contact makes Steve melt, but he feels wrong for it. “Stevie--hey. What is it? You look like you’re about to cry. Did I do something?” 

Steve doesn’t let any tears fall, though. He presses, selfishly, into Bucky’s touch. It feels wrong. It feels greedy. 

“I’m just,” he swallows again. He knew that if he told Bucky the truth about what he was so afraid of, Bucky would just go on a rant and start making promises about never leaving Steve. And Steve, as much as those words might offer comfort, didn’t want Bucky to be confined to a life with Steve just because he didn’t want to hurt Steve’s feelings. Steve would be selfish if he didn’t let Bucky go. Right? “_So _glad you’re okay, Buck. What Natasha did to you--it really scared me.” There, the truth, but not the whole truth. That was the only way Steve could lie convincingly.

It works. “Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky peppers kisses in Steve’s hair, his temple. He grabs Steve’s casted arm and plants a kiss on his fingers. “My Stevie,” Bucky hugs him close. “Must’ve been real scary to see, huh? Sorry ‘bout that. S’just a little thing Hydra programmed in case I ever snapped on ‘em.” Bucky talks about it so easily now, as if he wasn’t withering in pain on the floor for minutes on end, like it was a hiccup rather than a huge event. “But I’m okay now. Better than okay, I ain’t felt this light in...well, ever.” 

“That’s good, Buck. M’so glad,” Steve whispers. He means each word fiercely. He tries not to think about how he feels Bucky slipping away like water through his fingertips. 

“Actually,” Bucky clears his throat, a small smile spreading on his cheeks. “I’ve got some good news.”

Steve arches his brow. _ Good news _felt like an impossible, far-away concept. He feels like he’s hearing Bucky speak from underwater. “What is it?” 

“I talked with Stark last night, and we’ve come to an...agreement.” 

An agreement with Stark didn’t _ sound _like good news to Steve--it sounded like a trap. He’d been with Stark until yesterday evening, whatever deal he made with Bucky had to have been done early in the morning or late last night. 

“Well,” Bucky smiles. “Stark has agreed to start the paperwork for me to begin psychiatric testing and performance testing.” 

Steve’s face falls. That tone made him worry. A _ deal _ with Stark? The words _ a deal with the devil _ came to mind. _ Testing _also didn’t sound like an overly warm and fuzzy word. Steve didn’t trust Stark or frankly, anyone at SHIELD all that much, not when it came to Bucky. 

“Buck,” Steve begins, worry pitting in his stomach. Worry, and guilt. Everything Bucky was doing with Stark, the whole reason he was even _ here, _locked up, was because of Steve. “I don’t know--”

“The good news,” Bucky explains excitedly, his eyes sparkling for the first time in a while. “Is that we’re talking about cutting me a deal, and I think I’m going to be out of this cell pretty damn soon.” 

Steve runs a hand through his hair. He was surprised that they were talking about letting Bucky out so soon, he’d expected weeks, even months, of negotiation before an agreement was reached. He was wary of it. “A deal,” he echoes. “Sounds ominous.” 

“Sounds like a chance to get out of here,” Bucky corrects, confusion flooding his features. Steve felt bad for bringing down what was clearly Bucky’s first good mood in a while, but he couldn’t help it. “We could go home. Don’t you want that, Stevie? Domestic bliss and all that? Isn’t that what we’ve been fighting for this whole time?” 

Bucky was planning on coming back to the apartment with him. And it would be nice--maybe it would even work for a while. They’d watch TV and fight over the covers and kiss each other with morning breath. They could dance in the bedroom and Bucky could show him how, for real, this time. It would be peaceful.

But eventually...Bucky would learn. He’d get tired of seeing Steve’s bruised knuckles and he’d get annoyed with Steve never knowing where his inhaler is or for never finishing a cup of tea before making a new one. He’d start finding Steve’s quirks less cute and more frustrating, and as the time went on, he’d grow to hate Steve. 

He’d leave, and Steve would never heal properly. He would never recover from that kind of loss. 

He had never been in love like this before, and probably, he realized with a sinking heart, never would be again. 

“I didn’t think Tony Stark was a big fan of yours,” Steve hesitates, staring down into his lap. Looking at Bucky was too hard right now. “Why would he help you?” He didn’t trust Tony as far as he could throw him, and the fact that he was offering Bucky some sort of _ get out of jail free _card didn’t sit right with Steve. There had to be more to it.

“Me too,” Bucky shrugs. “We had a long chat last night. He’s a decent guy Steve, really. Funny, even. I think he...heard what he needed to, about what happened to his parents. And we came to an understanding that is...well. Mutually beneficial.” 

Oh. _ Oh. _ “They’re making you join the Avengers,” the realization dawns on Steve as he considers the term, _ performance testing. _“Christ.” 

This had always been a possibility. There was even a time when Steve imagined it as the best possible outcome to their predicament. Bucky and all of his friends, working together to save the world! At one time, it sounded like a dream.

But Bucky was hurt, probably had anxiety and depression and PTSD, or any number of mental illnesses that would need patience and treatment, not gunfire and missions. Steve could see clearly now, without the panic of before, and he knew that forcing Bucky out of this physical cell and into a more metaphorical one wasn’t going to do any good. 

Bucky looks confused by Steve’s reaction. “Steve, I don’t understand--this is _ good _news. It’s hope. This is what we’ve wanted all along.” 

“Is it?” Steve snaps, hands curling up in fists. They were going to drag Bucky back into the battles, the war, the bloodshed of it all. They were going to use him as a weapon the same way Hydra did and call it a _ mercy. _Call themselves saints, for giving Bucky the chance. “Or are you just joining them because it’s better than being in a cage?” 

“It _ is _ better than a cage,” Bucky defends, frowning at Steve. He pulls away a little, not understanding Steve’s reaction. “And _ we _would get to be together. I would be free. I thought this is what you wanted.”

“There are other options, Buck. You don’t have to sign on to be someone else’s soldier. We’ll figure something out--” 

“Steve,” Bucky snaps, interrupting him. He looks less confused and more irritated. “I _ want _to do this.” 

Steve had to make Bucky understand. “If you had the option between retiring somewhere quiet and safe, or joining the Avengers--joining the fight _ again-- _you would pick this? If you could?” 

“Yes,” Bucky answers, and Steve can’t detect a lie in his voice. When Steve looks up to meet his eyes, he sees a burning passion there, and genuine honesty. “I would. You know why? Because retiring somewhere, going off the grid...it isn’t _ me _ anymore, Steve,” Bucky tells him softly. “I was without a body for so long. Even though I was the Winter Soldier... it wasn’t really...me. I realize that now. My hands weren’t my own--I didn’t have any agency--and now that I do, I can take the skills Hydra gave me and use them to tear Hydra _ apart _Steve, and I can make sure they don’t hurt anyone else the way they hurt me.” Bucky’s metal arm whirrs and readjusts as he flexes his fingers. “I can make sure they never come for me. For us.” 

Steve adjusts his glasses and worries at his bottom lip. Bucky’s words made sense, and they sounded sincere, but Steve couldn’t help a deep sense of guilt, that _ he _was the reason Bucky was being forced to make these tough calls. “I just don’t want you to do something you’re going to regret, because you feel like it’s your only option.”

“I have the chance to do some good,” Bucky murmurs. “A chance to be more like the man you want me to be.” 

Steve is taken aback by that comment, and he blinks, trying to make sense of it. How could _ Bucky _ think he wasn’t enough for Steve? “What? Bucky--you _ are _the man I want you to be. You don’t have to change anything for me.” 

“I want to be better for you,” Bucky explains and meets Steve’s eyes with his own steel-blue ones. His metal hand raises like he wants to touch Steve with it, but he drops it quickly. 

Steve wraps his fingers around Bucky’s left hand, gripping tight. “This is part of you,” He tells him fiercely. “And I think it’s beautiful. And if you want to touch me...then I want you to. I don’t care which hand you use--it’s all _ Bucky _to me. And I love you.” 

“I love you,” Bucky swallows, sincere. “So much.” 

“Then we’ll be okay,” Steve says softly. He doesn’t know if it’s true, if Bucky will tire of him and leave, if they’ll ever find a way to make a life that will work for them both. But for now, they’ve got hope, and love, and it would have to be enough for now.

Bucky raises his left arm again and cups Steve’s cheek, gently holding it there for a brief moment. “Kiss me?” Bucky whispers hesitantly, as if he’s afraid that Steve will refuse him. 

But Steve is selfish, and doesn’t know how many kisses he has left before Bucky moves on. Despite the strangeness, the weight between them, Steve wants desperately to feel their lips pressed together, so he doesn’t waste time answering. 

Instead he just leans in to close the distance between them, tilting his head up as Bucky tilts his down, and letting their lips meet. 

It’s soft, at first, careful. Things had changed between them, somehow, and there was a shyness in their touch that hadn’t been there in the hunger of the motel room. 

But Bucky quickly tires of the softness, and breathes out a short little breath against Steve’s lips, his hands sliding down Steve’s hips to tug the blond effortlessly into his lap. 

Steve melts a little at that. He didn’t have _ much _sexual experience, but any time he’d been manhandled it had been a turn off, a way for another guy to exercise power over Steve in a way that Steve didn’t want, and a reminder of his weakness, his size. 

When Bucky moved him around, it just made Steve ache with need. Bucky did it carefully, softly, and the idea that Bucky’s metal arm could hold Steve up for a long time without getting tired was one that Steve had already entertained quite a few times. He had waited forever for this--for skin on skin, for Bucky to really make Steve _ his-- _

Steve pulls back to breathe, and Bucky wastes no time moving his lips down to Steve’s jaw, his neck, suckling at his collar bones, his hands sliding under Steve’s shirt to grasp at Steve’s bare skin, sending a shiver down his spine. 

“Buck,” Steve pants, eyes rolling back, “Jesus--”

“Ahem,” There is a tap on the glass of Bucky’s cell, and Steve goes rigid, freezing with muscles locked on Bucky’s lap. 

He suddenly remembered how exposed they were--360 degree view all the way around, encased in glass, with guards standing nearby and keeping close watch. 

Tony Stark is standing on the other side, eyebrows raised, waiting. He looked amused, a curious smile playing about his lips. 

Bucky doesn’t seem worried at all, his hands still firm in their grip of Steve’s hip bones. He’s not kissing Steve’s neck anymore, but he’s got his forehead pressed comfortably against Steve’s neck, watching Tony with a lazy expression, all of his muscles relaxed. 

From his posture, Steve would never say he was an ex-assassin---he was too at ease after being startled. Perhaps that had something to do with the effect Steve had on Bucky, or perhaps Bucky heard Tony coming the whole time and just didn’t care enough to stop kissing Steve. 

“Something we can help you with, Stark?” Bucky drawls in a low, hungry voice. “If not, I think you can see we’re a little...busy,” Bucky grins, and nips playfully at Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve feels his face turn bright red, and he tries to separate himself from Bucky. Bucky protests with a soft grunt of disapproval, and his hands flex on their grip of Steve’s hips. 

That does...interesting things to Steve, who clenches his jaw to keep from letting out a soft breath of _ want. _This was not the time nor the place. Locked in a glass cage wasn’t exactly how Steve had pictured their first time going down. 

“Yes, actually. I’m eager to get you out of here and into a suite with, well. Opaque, sound proof walls.” Tony squints at them suspiciously, eyeing their entwined position. “But first we need to make sure you’re not going to snap and start going all bloodthirsty and foaming at the mouth and whatnot. Y’know, HR nonsense, paperwork, liability, blah, blah, blah. So, if you boys will gladly _ detach, _then we can get that underway, and have you in a suite in a few days, if all goes well and you don’t kill anyone from now ‘till then.” 

Bucky straightens up, and gives Steve a dazzling smile. “Hear that, Stevie? Soundproof walls,” He leans in closer, his lips brushing Steve’s ear when, in a barely audible voice, he whispers, “‘S’good, ‘cause I remember how loud you got when you touched yourself. I can only imagine what you’ll do when I get my hands on you for real this time--”

“Okay!” Steve yelps. His face was on fire, even his ears felt hot. Steve always knew Bucky was a charmer, a flirt, even--he was always smooth-talking. But this? This was downright _ dirty. _So much for Bucky being from a time where sexuality was saved for the bedroom between a husband and a wife. He could feel Bucky’s hardness pressed against him, he could sense the hunger. “Okay, okay, okay. Whew, yep, I’ve had enough of you.” he peels himself away from Bucky, and straightens his shirt. Bucky watches him with a predatory gleam. “Go with Stark, and--and don’t look at me like that, for Christ’s sake.” 

“I’m not lookin’ at you like anything,” Bucky says, but he’s grinning dangerously like he knows exactly the effect he has on Steve. Asshole. 

Tony clears his throat again. “Boys, please. Keep the peace. I’ve got doctors waiting, Barnes, and places to be. Let’s move, I’m on a tight schedule.” 

“Yessir,” Bucky salutes lazily. "Whatever you say, boss man."

“Rogers,” Tony barks at him over his shoulder, as Steve steps out of the cell. “Romanoff is in your suite, heads up. She wants to talk. Good luck.” 

Natasha. Things had been tense between them for a while now--maybe it was good they finally got time to talk. “Thanks,” Steve tells Tony, and puts a little more heart into the words than he means to. 

Tony, with eyes that were suddenly soft, winks at him. "Keep your head up, Blondie. We're working things out." 

Steve gives Tony a grateful smile. "Yeah," he agrees softly. "I know." With that, he throws one last, wistful glance over his shoulder at Bucky, and then heads to the elevator, already dreading the conversation that was undoubtedly waiting for him in his suite.

***

When Steve is safely out of sight, Bucky reaches for the laptop once more and clears his search history, because--why not? He shouldn’t give Stark one more thing to hold over his head.

Even as he erases it though, there is a smile playing at his lips that he can’t help, a thrill of hope running through his veins. There was _ good news, _for once. For him and for Steve. Things were finally looking up. 

Things that Bucky never thought they’d be able to have were suddenly within reach. The future was one big promise of love and laughter, and that's something he never saw for himself. Now, it felt like something he could really have.

The top of the page he’d been browsing read: _ Top 10 Ways to Propose to Him. _

Yeah. Things were looking up.


	17. I'll be your bloodhound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Natasha get to talk. Bucky gets a phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chappie to tide you over :) more to come next week!!  
Hope everyone is staying safe & as always, your comments make my DAY <3

_So there will come a run of loving someone_   
_It's a kind of singing, but bilingual now_   
_Be learning how we can all swap mouths_   
_Come lay your head down_

_Remember Remember_   
_Remember Remember_

_ \- Recuerda, Penny and Sparrow _

* * *

When the doors of the elevator open to Steve’s suite, Natasha is perched like a cat on the counter, with a jar of peanut butter and a spoon. 

She looks comfortable, in grey sweatpants that Steve suspects originally belonged to Clint, judging by how many times the waist and legs were rolled up to fit her, and a black yoga jacket. Her red hair is in neat plaits away from her face, and she’s makeup free.

It was nice to see her in more comfortable attire, not battle gear or office clothing. _ This _was the Nat he was used to. 

She doesn’t look surprised at all when Steve steps out of the elevator. She shifts slightly, though, posture more alert, but it was clear that she’d been expecting him. 

“Nat,” He greets her quietly. So much has happened between them, he didn’t quite know what to say. The air felt heavy in the room, full of loaded feelings. She had _ hurt _him and Bucky numerous times in the past days, and while Steve wasn’t one to hold a grudge, the wound went deep for him. He loved and trusted her, and she had let him down.

“Hey,” She says just as softly, and then clears her throat. “I hope it’s okay that I’m here, I--” She frowns, swallowing. The authoritative air that Steve had seen her with constantly since they’d agreed on a plan to get Bucky back was gone, and she looked small and unsure, especially in her close braids and over-sized clothing. Steve often forgot she was still so young, just a few years older than him. There was always a wiseness in her eyes and posture that made her seem impossibly old. 

“We should talk,” Steve agrees, letting out a long breath. They needed to release the tension between them. “We need to talk about what happened.” 

“Yeah,” she mumbles, setting the peanut butter down and folding her hands in her lap. “Look--everything has been crazy, and fast,” She begins, searching for the words, which isn’t something Steve sees her doing often. She blinks her wide eyes at him, and wets her lips. Steve thinks he sees tears, but before he can be sure, she blinks them away. “And I hurt you.” 

“Not just me,” Steve corrects, looking away. He remembers too clearly the way she uttered the words, the mistrust in her voice, the way Bucky had thrashed in pain. “Bucky, more than anyone.” 

“You’re right,” she concedes, voice soft. “I’m sorry it happened the way it did.” 

“But you’re not sorry that it happened,” Steve clarifies, watching her with raised eyebrows. Was she for real? 

“I’m not sorry we got to Barnes,” She murmurs, fiddling with one of the braids. “Because I truly...I believe this is what’s best for him.” She meets his eyes, “SHIELD helped me, Steve, when I was in the same bad places as Barnes was. Gave me a purpose. A sense of redemption--like maybe I could do some good in the world, to make up for all the evil,” She shrugs softly. “And I know that he deserves that second chance, too. I hope he takes it in stride.”

Steve presses his lips together. He can’t deny her that, especially after talking with Bucky and figuring out he felt exactly the same. He wanted a second chance, and Steve could tell he was grateful to SHIELD for giving it to him. “I know,” he tells her, leaning back against the opposite counter. “I get it.” 

“But the trigger words,” She shakes her head, lowering her gaze and looking rightfully guilty. “I was wrong, doing that to him and to you. I betrayed your trust, and I’ve been letting you down ever since.” 

“You were scared,” Steve allows, running a hand back through his hair. He had his time to be angry--part of him even hated her for it, in the moment and the hours following. But now, watching her with her tucked up legs and her curled posture, he knows the guilt has been weighing on her. He can tell she misses him. She was wary of the famed Winter Soldier, who had been advancing on her asthmatic, un-Enhanced, 90 pound friend. As much as he hated what happened, a part of him understood where she’d been coming from. She was acting on instinct, and that’s what she does. He couldn’t fault her for behaving in the exact way she’d always been trained to. 

“You didn’t know what he was going to do. I understand, Nat, but. You need to promise that you will not _ ever _use those words against him again.” 

She looks up at him, her face pained. “Steve,” She begins, shaking her head, already frowning. “You know I--”

“No,” He interrupts sternly. “You _ can _ promise me, Nat. Bucky isn’t a danger to anyone anymore, least of all me. Stark is going to offer him a spot on the Avengers as soon as his head is straightened out and he’s cleared for battle. You need to trust him, at least _ half _as much as I do, and using those words as a knife to hold over his head isn’t fair to anyone.” 

She doesn’t look all that surprised by the news, but her lips twitch a little in a way that gives up that she didn’t know about Stark’s offer. Perhaps he hadn’t announced it yet, but Nat had clearly suspected. After all, that was what they’d talked about. 

“If Bucky is going to be working with you everyday, I need to know he’s safe with you.” 

Natasha looks down at her hands. “Sasha and I…” She begins, letting out a long, weighted breath. “We have a history.” 

“I know he trained you in the Red Room, but that’s all I know. You don’t have to tell me anything else, you don’t owe me that.” 

“It’s not a history like _ that,” _ Natasha screws up her face, looking a little disgusted. “It was nothing romantic, not _ ever _. He was like a big brother to me,” She hesitates, going quiet. Steve has to strain to hear her when she admits, “I loved him like he was my own blood.” 

Steve tries to keep his shock to himself. While he knew that Bucky and Nat had something of a past, he had no idea it went anything like that. The Winter Soldier, as programmed and lost as he was at the hands of Hydra, still managed to _ connect. _ That was the power of Bucky Barnes. That’s how utterly _ human _Bucky’s heart was, even in the midst of all the programming and brainwashing they did to him. 

“You didn’t like hurting him,” Steve says, understanding now. “That’s why you feel so guilty about it. Not because of me.” 

She doesn’t look up, but she nods her head once, in defeat. “I hated hurting him,” She agrees. “Part of me will always….always love Sasha, for the years he gave me in the Red Room. He looked out for me when I had no one. But I’d still have killed him if I thought he was going to hurt you, no questions asked,” she gives a wobbly smile. “And I know he’d kill me, too, if he thought I was going to hurt you. That’s just the power you have, Steve. That’s the power you have over the two of us.” 

“Nat,” Steve shakes his head, about to say more, when she interrupts. 

“I had a lot of resentment for Sasha, for many years. I thought he left me--after everything, after he _ promised _he was going to stay, I thought he’d left,” She lets out a long breath, fingering one of her braids between two fingers, a nervous gesture. “I didn’t know, then, that he was in cryo, against his will. But there was a time when I would have taken a bullet for him. So, no. I didn’t like hurting him. And I’m sorry, for not trusting you when you said he wouldn’t hurt you. It’s clear to me now that you know him better than anyone.”

“You shouldn’t apologize to me,” Steve sighs, rubbing his arms up and down for warmth around the bulky cast. “You should apologize to Bucky.” 

“I already have,” Natasha admits, giving Steve a shy smile. “We talked earlier today. I think we can mend things,” she nods, hopeful. “He’s quite gone on you, you know. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger.”

“I don’t know about that,” Steve swallows, trying not to let his mind wander to thoughts of losing Bucky or what the future may hold for them. He had spent enough hours that morning wondering about the future. “I’m glad you two got the chance to talk, though. Maybe one day you can be friends again.” 

Natasha’s lips twist upwards, but it’s not quite a smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes. “Maybe,” She echoes, but Steve is sure she doesn’t believe it. “Are we okay?” 

“Yeah,” Steve walks over to her and presses his face into her shoulder, wrapping an arm around her slender waist. “Missed you, while you were off bein’ grumpy and doubtin’ every choice I made.” 

Natasha presses one of her rare, sweet kisses into Steve’s hair. “I missed you, too,” She murmurs. She lets the silence sit between them for a moment or two, and, in very un-Natasha-like fashion, lets Steve hold her close for a bit. “And I’m going to do better. For you, for Barnes. For myself.” 

He knows the admission isn’t easy for her to make. “Thank you,” he murmurs sincerely, pressing into her.

“Steve,” she murmurs. “Everything is going to work out. I know I’ve been pretty cynical this whole time, but I want you to know that I’m on your side. I want…” She hesitates. “I want Sasha to get the second chance that I did. And it’s about time I start acting like it...and learning to trust.” she hesitates, “you know it doesn’t come easy to me.” 

“I know, you’re prickly,” Steve hedges, but he laughs and bumps their shoulders together to soften the blow. It works, and Natasha shoves lightly back. 

“I just worry about you,” She defends. “But I can see….from seeing you two together, I can see how much he cares for you. And I know now that you’re safe with him. I should have trusted you when you told me that.” She rushes the words all out in one breath, like it pains her to admit them at all. It makes Steve smile despite himself. She was so predictable. “I suppose it was just impossible for me to see the Winter Soldier as someone who would be selfless. I had seen, for so long, how ruthless he was. I underestimated your hold on him, and his ability to break through programming,” She confesses.

“Thanks, Nat,” Steve says sincerely, smiling softly. “Love you, you know.” “Love you,” She replies sweetly, and hops off the counter without making a sound. “Duty calls.” She waggles her phone which is alight with messages and missed calls and gives an apologetic smile. “I gotta run.” 

“No problem,” Steve nods, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’ll be ‘round, if you wanna stop by later.” 

“Maybe,” Natasha grins. She hesitates, with her hand on the door, and turns to mouth, _ thank you, _at Steve. 

“Thank _ you,” _he replies back cheerily, and with that, she gives him a dazzling smile, and ducks out the door. His heart feels a little lighter than it did that morning.

\--

Steve doesn’t get to see Bucky again that day, and the hours pass more slowly for it. It, unfortunately, gives Steve a lot of time to let his mind wander to dark places.

They were keeping Bucky under secluded 48 hour observation in order to test something with a name Steve didn’t comprehend but had something to do with Bucky’s response to various stimuli, he thinks.It had to do with testing his ability to remain sane and calm, and to see if he really could be combat-ready for the Avengers. If all went well, Bucky could be out of the cell and into his very own Hero-Suit (as Steve was now lovingly referring to them) as soon as the end of the week.

Bucky had a lot of downtime with the testing, and the upside of the whole thing was that, at Steve’s request, SHIELD provided Bucky with a cellphone so that he and Steve could text. That, at least, was a small mercy. Even as slow as the hours went, Bucky’s texts helped to break up the day.

Bucky, being the one-hundred year old man he was, was still getting the hang of the small buttons. Apparently the Winter Soldier didn’t have much need for cell phones.

_ Buckii <3 says: stebe _

_ Buckii <3 says: stebe _

_ Buckii <3 says: **STEVE _

_ Buckii <3 says: why are ths buttons so snalk _

_ Buckii <3 says: SMALL BUTTONS _

_ Buckii <3 says: THE METAL ARM IS NOT EQUIPPED_ FOR TOUCH SCREENS _

_ Buckii <3 says: HA^VE TO TYPE W@ITH ONE HAND!!!//_

Steve sighs. A few minutes later, his phone goes off again.

_ Buckii <3 says: STARK GAVE ME TOUCH SCREEN GLOVE FOR METAL SAND _

_ Buckii <3 says: **HAND _

Steve grins wickedly at his phone, the image of Tony Stark rolling his eyes at the ex-assassin who was struggling to text his boyfriend because the touch screen phone wouldn’t read the metal fingers. What was even more entertaining was the idea of Stark huffing and puffing and slapping a touch-screen friendly glove against Bucky’s chest and muttering something about sexting. 

_ Steve says: Hey, look. The old man is figuring out technology. Good for you, Buck. _

_ Buckii <3 says: WHO ARE YOU CALLING COLD _

_ Buckii <3 says: **OLD _

_ Buckii <3 says: I’M STILL IN MY PRIME _

_ Buckii <3 says: ADMIT IT!1!!!11!!!!!!1!!!!! _

_ Steve says: Buck, turn your caps lock off. _

_ Buckii <3 says: NO//’’} _

_ Buckii <3 says: IM BIG @SO I H&AVE BIG WORDS _

_ Buckii <3 says: YOU. ARE. SMALL. SO. YOU. HAVE. SMALL. WORDS.{][-?_

_Buckii <3 says: LOOK WHAT I CSN DO_

_Buckii <3 says: : ] _

_Buckii <3 says: A SMILE. FOR. YOU._

Half of Steve wants to roll his eyes at Bucky’s ridiculous texts, but mostly, he stares at his phone all day with a wide, goofy smile on his face. As he watches Netflix and sketches a little, he gets random messages like, 

_ Buckii <3 says: DID YOU LOCK APARTMENT DOOR. _

_ Steve says: Kinda hard to do that when you ~kidnapped~ me. There wasn’t really time. _

_ Buckii <3 says: U NEED TO GO LOCK IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! _

And:

_ Buckii <3 says: NOW U. CAN WEAR># MY SHIRTS INSTEAD OF. WILSON’S _

_ Steve says: do you own any shirts?? _

_ Buckii <3 says: NOT YET BUT WHEN I DO-@$ IT’S GO TIME. _

And: 

_ Buckii <3 says: I REALLY MISS YOU $%^ _

_ Buckii <3 says: STARK SAYS $TTTHINGS ARE LOOKING GO0D _

_ Buckii <3 says: I MIGHT BE OUT %^# OF THIS CELL S-0ON _

Steve wished he could be there with Bucky, to see what they were “testing” and how they were doing it. He felt fiercely protective over Bucky, especially when it came to SHIELD. He didn’t trust them to respect the trauma that Bucky experienced. 

_ Steve says: That’s great, Buck. I can’t wait! _

He spends that evening curled up in bed holding his phone to his chest. He plays Billie Holiday’s _ I’ll Be Seeing You _on his phone and closes his eyes, letting the music take him back to a time when things were simple, when they were sad but easy--his swaying body and Bucky’s ghost and the moon.

_ Buckii <3 says: NIGHT ACE, LOVE YOU#??//!! _

_ Steve says: Night, Buck. Sweet dreams. _

He prays desperately that the nightmares don’t break Bucky’s heart tonight.


	18. I'd be lying if I said that I lost my faith in you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Believe that I'm doing this for the right reasons, if--if there is such a thing." Steve manages to choke out. "Please believe that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sad one, boys. Strap in.  
*******Please see the end of the chapter notes for warnings*******

I_'ve never really been the one to second guess you_  
_Never second guess you_  
_I never had a reason to_  
_But things aren't how they used to be_

_I'd be lying if I said I lost my faith in you_   
_Oh, but I don't wanna be something that you just hold on to_

* * *

The next day, Steve is walking back from the cafe, London Fog in hand, enjoying the atmosphere of a New York that was eagerly awaiting Christmas.

It was a nice break, to walk around the block and enjoy the nip of the cold air against his nose. The Tower was lovely, but it was stifling and only reminded him that Bucky wasn’t in his arms, and knowing that only a few floors separate them made it worse, somehow. The fresh air is exactly what he needed.

People walked around the busy streets, phone to the ears, shopping bags in their hands, oblivious to anything other than the upcoming holiday season. A few years ago, Steve would have been the same; rushing around to buy the perfect gift for his mom, not another care in the world. 

It wouldn’t be long now, he knew, until he had Bucky back. Testing was going smoothly according to Bucky’s frequent texts. They’d be together soon. He would hold on to that, and he could wait as long as he had to if it was the promise of forever he was waiting on.

As Steve turns the next corner, his peaceful mindset is interrupted, and he’s startled into dropping his tea when two rough hands grab him by the back of his jacket and tug him roughly into an alley. Adrenaline floods his system.

“What the hell--” he gasps, scrambling to get out of the stranger’s hold.

He tries not to panic, not letting his mind get ahead of his situation. _ Think. _ Whatever this was about, he had to stay calm. Bucky would be _ so _pissed if Steve got into a fight. 

“Goddamit,” He curses, mourning the loss of his five dollar drink. Whatever this was, it had better be good. He’d barely had more than a few sips, and he had been craving the latte for hours. “What the hell is going on--”

“Steven Rogers?” The man, dressed in all black, hissed at him. He towered over Steve, but was probably still a couple inches shorter than Bucky, and he was wearing a hat and sunglasses. Most of his face was obscured by it. That wasn’t a good sign. Whoever he was, he wasn’t just a random drunk picking a fight with the little guy. 

He knew who Steve was, and he wanted something from him.

“Who’s asking?” Steve sticks up his chin, showing no fear. He was used to bullies. He wouldn’t give in, whoever this man was. He’d keep his head, and he’d figure out a way out of this. He just had to breathe.

“Been looking for you, Steve. You’re coming with me,” He grinned, and punched Steve square in the gut, making him hiss out the air in his lungs and double over. When he was bent over in pain, the guy moved to grab him, not wasting any time.

Oh, _ hell _ no. Steve wasn’t in the fucking _ mood _to get kidnapped right now. He’d had quite enough of running around with super heroEs and he wasn’t about to try his hand with villains. 

Not to mention what Bucky would do to this guy if he ever got his hands on him. He really didn’t need Bucky’s headspace to be in _ revenge mode _right now. 

He was supposed to be focusing on recovery. _ Peace. _

Steve was comfortable in his resolve; no way was he going to let himself be taken right now. Not an option. 

Steve acts fast, surprising even himself, kicking the guy _ hard _where it counts and scratching his nails hard into the man’s eyes in a few fluid movements, not giving the man time to react or retaliate. 

The guy goes down, screaming, clutching his face. 

Success. 

Steve puts a few feet between them, pressing his back against the brick of the alley building in case the man brought someone for backup. 

Steve wouldn’t let them get the jump on him, he was alert, adrenaline pumping hard through his veins. He breathed hard, ignoring the throbbing in his chest from the first hit the man had landed on him. 

“What do you want with me?” Steve demands. The man is too busy clawing at his eyes and scrambling to his feet to reply. Steve had done some damage, and a dark part of himself felt deeply satisfied about it. This guy, whoever he was, thought he would have it easy getting Steve, and Steve had fought back.

Steve grabs a handful of the man’s hair and yanks hard, not feeling bad about the yelp of pain he lets out. He’s still grabbing at his eyes, and doesn’t answer. Steve pulls harder, grinding his teeth together. He needed answers. “_ Answer me. _”

“You mean something to the Asset,” The man gasps, tugging free of Steve’s grip and putting a few feet between them. “If we get you we can lure him in.” 

Steve grimaces, disgusted. “You’re with Hydra,” He realizes, his stomach rolling. The guy clearly wasn’t armed, or he’d have used whatever weapons he had to either incapacitate Steve, or threaten him into submission already. 

Instead, he was wearing civilian clothing, no kevlar, and clearly wasn’t that highly trained if Steve had taken the upper hand in the fight that quickly, even when the guy had the element of surprise. 

That had to mean he was low-down on the Hydra hierarchy. 

And yet--he knew about Steve. That wasn’t a good sign. If the grunts of Hydra were after Steve, it probably meant there was a reward on the line, and that his whereabouts (or at least his identity and connection to the Winter Soldier) were widely known. 

“How many people know about me?”

“What one of us knows, we all do,” The man grins manically, and Steve winds up and wacks him across the head with his cast, knowing it would hurt. It works, breaking the man’s nose with a satisfying _ crunch_. He spits out blood as Steve reaches for his cell phone. 

“You’re gonna fucking die, and we’re gonna get the Asset back,” The man lunges at Steve again, and Steve stumbles back out of his reach. 

“I’m friends with a bunch of superheroes,” Steve gasps, as the man gets a good hit in and grabs him around the stomach. “You picked the wrong hostage.” He kicks back with all his strength and gets a solid blow to the man’s shin, which causes his grip to loosen enough for Steve to wiggle free. He fumbles to get his phone out, dialing Natasha’s number. She’d know what to do. She could get here quickly, and she’d be more rational about it than Sam or Clint.

“They can’t keep you safe every second of every day,” He hisses. “And when they slip up, Hydra will be waiting. It would do anything for you, it’s little _ pet, _and as long as that’s true, we’ve always got easy access to it,” The man grins around bloody teeth. “You calling backup? It’s pointless.” 

Steve glares at him but doesn’t answer, his fingers shaking. He realizes the thug was talking about Bucky when he was referring to _ it. _ The thought made his stomach roll, and he has to swallow down the bile that threatens to rise. They didn’t even view him as _ human. _

_ Pick up, pick up, pick up-- _

“Call the Avengers. Tell them we’re after you, they’ll lock you up just like they did the Asset, to keep you _ safe. _” The man laughs manically, blood running from his nose, his lip, his eyes. “Hail Hydra!” the man screams, and bites down hard on his own jaw. 

He immediately starts foaming at the mouth, falling over and convulsing.

Steve’s mouth falls open in shock, and he looks around nervously for any witnesses, but they were far enough in the back of the alley way that no one noticed over the buzz of the city traffic. His heart pounded in his chest, hard enough that he could actively feel it.

He remembers Bucky explaining that Hydra grunts often carried cyanide around and would commit suicide rather than be captured by someone who could use the information they knew to take Hydra down. I.e, the Avengers. 

That’s why the man wanted to know if Steve was calling _ backup. _

He stares blankly at the man, his unblinking eyes, his foaming mouth. His chest stops moving.

Stumbling back, heart racing, Steve starts to run. He’d never get that image out of his head--the man foaming at the mouth, his bloody eyes, the damage Steve had done to him.

His legs can’t carry him fast enough, his heart in his throat, he pushes through the crowds desperately. He had to get away. 

He had to put some distance between him and that man, his vacant stare, his bloody teeth.

“Hello?” He hears vaguely from the other end of his phone, as he dodges his way through pedestrians and flags down a cab. Natasha’s worried voice tries again as the cab pulls over: “Steve, you there?” 

He jumps into the backseat and slams the door shut behind him. “Avengers tower,” he instructs, panting for breath. He holds his phone back up to his ear. “Nat?” 

“Steve what’s going on? Are you okay?” 

“Fine,” He lies, breathing hard into the phone. He’s got tears in his eyes. His fingers have blood on them, but it’s not his. Does this mean he killed someone? Was he a murderer? “Asthma attack is all. Thought I left my inhaler at the tower, but I’ve got it. I’m on my way back now.” 

“Okay,” she says quietly, sounding like she doesn’t entirely believe him. “Take it easy. I’ll see you then.” 

With shaking fingers, Steve hangs up.

***

All in all, it takes four days of testing to get a consensus on what was going on in Bucky’s brain. Steve spends those days refusing visitors, curled up in his suite and jumping at every small noise. 

Natasha had texted him asking if she could stop by on a few occasions, and so had Clint and Sam, but Steve had refused the company. He wanted nothing but to be alone to deal with his own racing mind.

He didn’t tell anyone what had happened that day. He was going to, at first--he had to warn the Avengers to be on the lookout, warn them that Hydra was after Bucky. 

But something the man had said was playing over and over again in Steve’s mind; _ they’ll just lock you up like they did the Asset. _Hydra clearly had eyes somewhere in the tower, and moreover--he was right.

If Natasha, Clint and Sam heard about what happened that day in the alley, they’d no doubt force Steve to stay at the suite until they could get a handle on Hydra, and with how many bases there were, that could be _ years. _Years of him living this borrowed life, in this suite that wasn’t home, with restrictions on where he could or couldn’t go. His entire life would be controlled.

And Bucky. If Bucky found out, he’d be drowning in self-blame. If it got bad enough, Steve could even see him pulling some martyr bullshit and turning himself in so that Steve would be safe. 

And Steve absolutely _ could not _have that.

There was only one option; Steve was only valuable to Hydra because Bucky cared about him. 

If that wasn’t true anymore, then Steve would be worthless. They wouldn’t be able to get to Bucky through him, and Bucky would be safe. 

Even if Hydra came for him, if Steve could get Bucky to stop caring about him, then with any luck, Bucky wouldn’t even notice Steve was missing. 

He wouldn’t go searching for Steve. He’d be _ safe. _

Once Hydra realized that Steve was no use to them, they’d probably just let him go. Right?

So things would be okay. Bucky would be safe. 

But before he could be, Steve would have to break his heart.

***

“Basically,” Stark explains, throwing back an espresso like a shot of tequila, “Barnes is pretty messed up.” 

Steve’s heart sinks. That didn’t sound like the good news he’d been hoping for--it sounded like Tony was about to tell him they were going to lock Bucky up and throw away the key _ for his own safety, _or some bullshit like that. 

“What do you mean?” Steve presses worriedly. 

He was sitting in a stiff boardroom that had a floor to ceiling holographic image of Bucky’s brain, with multiple colours and tags, and Steve didn’t understand any of it. He crosses and uncross his legs, eager to know more and unable to sit still. Around the table was a nervous looking intern holding a clipboard, sitting on Stark’s left side, Natasha, Sam, Clint, and Steve himself. 

“Well,” Stark explains, clearing his throat. “It’s complicated, but basically--”

“Oh for God’s sake Tony,” Natasha snaps, interrupting. “Spit it out.” When Tony doesn’t immediately start talking, Sam lets out a dramatic breath and turns to Steve.

“Steve, Bucky is gonna be _ fine,” _Sam reassures him. 

He squints at Sam. That didn’t seem to be what Tony was leading up to. “Huh?” 

“He’s fine--”

“Well,” Tony says again, interrupting. “He isn’t _ fine, _ actually. His brain scans are all outta wack--Hydra really did some damage, and don’t get me _ started _on that arm, which is just a disaster waiting to happen--”

“Tony,” Clint sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No need to torture us all with the details. Just spit it out already.”

“_ But,” _ Tony continues, acting like Clint hadn’t spoken, _ “ _ he’s got _ this _ Stark genius on his side, so….long story short, he’ll be fine,” Tony finally admits, giving Steve a soft, warm smile, one that he had never seen on Tony before. It made him look...gentle. Kind. “And what’s more, he’s been declared fit for combat.”

Steve gapes. It was happening--Bucky was going to be sent out with the rest of them to fight all over the world, to take out the threats that were too dangerous for regular soldiers and too powerful to be destroyed by machines. It was finally happening. 

He couldn’t say he was excited. 

“He can roam about in here as he pleases within the tower, until we get the last few details of his contract sorted out and get him fitted for a new arm,” Tony explains. “I’m thinking--lasers, maybe a drilling feature? It would be helpful for trying to break in places--”

“I’m gonna turn my hearing aids off,” Clint grumbles, mostly to himself. Natasha shoots him an annoyed glare, but she’s fighting a smile. 

“He’ll start a diet regime that will ensure he’s getting all the necessary calories, exercise, training and of course, all new weapons made by yours truly, excetera.” Tony meets Steve’s ees and gives him a wink. “And that means you’re free to go visit your boyfriend.” 

Everything was about to change. This was it; the final moments. He was going to have to let go of a part of himself, in order to protect Bucky, and it was going to _ hurt _like hell. 

Was he even strong enough to survive it? 

He didn’t feel strong. His legs felt like they were made of Jell-O, not even sturdy enough to support his own weight, let alone the weight of this decision and what it would do to both of their hearts. 

“He’s not my--” Steve begins to say, but cuts himself short. Technically, he supposes, they _ were, _but the term felt wrong, too lighthearted to contain all that they had been through together. It didn’t matter what they labelled it. 

It would be over soon enough.

“Where is he?” Steve says instead, already heading for the door. 

“Just ask JARVIS, he’ll take you,” Tony tells him. “And remember--sex before marriage is a sin!” 

\---------------

Steve’s heart races the entire elevator ride, which thanks to Tony’s high-tech loving self and attention to detail, was only a few seconds.

When the doors opened, Steve timidly stepped inside, opening his mouth to greet Bucky somehow, but falling short as he looked around, taking in the place.

The apartment looked a lot like Natasha’s and Sam, with a similar layout and colour scheme, full of neutral tones. The shelves and walls were bare, but there was a soft looking throw blanket over the back of the couch and a stack of books in the corner of the dining room table. Steve was too far to read any of their titles, but he wondered if Bucky picked them out himself.

He didn’t know what kind of books Bucky liked to read. There was a lot he didn’t know about Bucky. Weren’t they mostly strangers?

Bucky was there, in the farthest corner of the room, with his back to a wall and facing out at the window. There was a holographic globe in one corner with little red tags on it in front of him, and Bucky was staring at it intently, his finger manipulating the globe this way and that, as more little red tags popped up as he zoomed in or spun it. 

His head snaps in Steve’s direction as he steps out of the elevator, their eyes meeting. There is a brief pause where they stare at each other, the room heavy with their thoughts. 

If Steve was honest with himself, Bucky looked like some sort of God right now, with the backlight of the New York skyline behind him, the falling snow illuminated by the street lights and neon glow of the _ Avengers Tower _sign. It took Steve’s breath away for a moment, how devastatingly handsome Bucky really was. His high cheekbones, his long hair falling into his face. Steve couldn’t decide which he liked better--the clean, slicked back look of his ghost, or the disheveled waves that Bucky had been sporting recently. Both were equally as mouth-watering. 

How must _ he _look right now? Hair mussed atop his head, wrinkled jeans from curling up small all day, a sweatshirt that was a little too large, diabetic socks that helped with his poor circulation. He wasn’t even close to Bucky’s level on the outside, let alone the courage and bravery that Bucky held inside. Steve couldn’t hold a candle to that. 

They had finally reached the point that they’d been striving for this entire time; the time when they could fall into each other freely and laugh and make pancakes. 

And yet, they couldn’t have it. Steve couldn’t let Hydra think that Steve meant _ anything _to Bucky. If they took him, Bucky would come running, and...Steve couldn’t bear the thought of Bucky anywhere near those evil people.

When it came to Steve, Bucky was never known for thinking rationally. He’d rush into danger without a second thought, and all Hydra would have to do is say a few words, and they’d have Bucky back. 

“Buck,” Steve says, feeling oddly shy. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. They hand uselessly at his his sides.

“Hey,” Bucky replies softly, setting down his coffee cup on the table. He even uses a coaster, and it’s oddly endearing. Part of Steve wants to pester Bucky for drinking coffee this late in the day--the sun had already set. He should be avoiding caffeine if he wants to sleep tonight--but worrying about Bucky couldn’t be his job anymore. He had to let go. He smiles softly. “You’re here.”

Steve is torn between wanting to run to Bucky and jump in his arms and wanting to step back into the elevator so he didn’t have to look into those studious pale eyes. He feels naked, trapped, under examination with all of his flaws there for the world to see. 

“Yeah,” Steve says finally, his voice cracking a little. He clears his throat, gesturing to the elevator. “Stark told me I could come up.” He peers at the floating globe and Bucky catches his gaze.

Bucky gestures to the holograph, his eyes sliding to it and then back to Steve. His walls are up, Steve can tell. Bucky senses the tension too, and he’s bracing himself. “Hydra bases.” 

Superhero stuff. It had already begun--SHIELD was giving Bucky tasks already, trying to figure out what he knows, on his very first day of freedom. It was only going to get worse. “I see.” 

“I’m trying to add more to the list SHIELD gave me. Trying to remember where they were. Which ones were most-used.” 

Steve should congratulate him on being free, should tell Bucky that he’s so glad they’ve finally made it to here, where Bucky has his own apartment and a job that he finds purpose in, and a bright future ahead. Things were going to go so _ well _for Bucky. He was going to have a wonderful life. He was going to save people.

“Nice place,” He says instead, because he’s a coward. He shoves his hands in his pockets, and his excitement at Bucky’s freedom quickly turns to uncertainty. What was going to happen to them now? Did Steve return to his normal life, see Bucky once or twice a week for a while, until things naturally fizzled out? 

Did he try to pick up the pieces of his life and haunt his empty apartment as Bucky once did? 

Bucky squints at him, trying to understand Steve’s strange demeanour. “I guess,” Bucky says carefully, obviously suspicious of Steve’s reserve. His eyes don’t leave Steve’s. “S’not home, though.” 

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly. His heart was in his throat and his fingertips were ice-cold. 

He didn’t belong here. The sense of how much he _ didn’t belong here _rattled his bones and shook him to the core. How could he play pretend this whole time, acting like this was a place he could make a home? Befriending a few superheroes was one thing, falling in love with a one-hundred year old ex-assassin/superhero was on another level. Steve couldn’t. He couldn’t put his heart through this.

He was holding on to something that he needed to let go. For his own safety, and for Bucky’s.

Here, in this multi-million dollar apartment, with an elevator and voice command everything and a beautiful man--Steve was, as always, the odd one out.

“Should be able to get out of here and back to the apartment soon, but I’ll probably have to keep a place here, just for convenience sake. M’sure they’d let you stay with me on the nights that I’d sleep here, though, ‘cause I’d feel too worried leaving you alone in the apartment, with the fact that Hydra is gonna want me back and could use you as leverage--so obviously we’d have to get some of Stark’s high-tech security, for us and for Pegs--” Bucky is babbling. He cuts himself off and lets out a long breath, running a hand back through his longish hair. “I’m thinking ahead, I know. I just,” He offers up a shy smile, looking at Steve through his lashes, and getting to his feet, taking a few steps closer to Steve. “I’m just glad that you’re here, Ace. Real glad.” 

“I’m glad you’re free,” Steve rasps, and feels like a phoney for not expressing the same sentiment--he _ was _ glad he was here, and a part of him, the stubborn part, wanted to dig in his heels and _ stay, _and make a home with Bucky. 

Part of him wanted to pretend that he would have this love forever, but it was a selfish and deranged idea. It would never work. It didn’t matter how much they loved each other--Hydra would take him, or Bucky, or SHIELD would send Bucky out and he’d get traumatized or _ hurt _and Steve wouldn’t be able to cope. 

Steve didn’t want to get hurt. He couldn’t stand to let himself be the happiest he ever was, only to watch Bucky walk away a few months later when he finally realized that Steve was just a mediocre asthmatic with a temper, and wasn’t worth his time. That would be the worst hurt of his lifetime. If he had the chance to protect himself from that, he had to take it. 

If he was the reason Hydra got Bucky back, Steve would never be able to live with himself. 

He remembers how torn up he was when his Ma died. That pain was the worst belly-ache, heart-breaking pain that Steve ever _ felt. _It took him over a year to put the pieces back together after that, and even to this day he still didn’t feel whole. The thought of feeling anything remotely similar to that made his very bones shudder. He couldn’t. He wasn’t strong enough. 

Bucky narrows his eyes, looking immediately alarmed at that statement. He takes another step closer to Steve. “I know it’s been a hard few days. For both of us. Just c’mere,” Bucky prompts, opening his arms. 

Steve _ almost _goes. Almost. His knees unlock and then lock again, and he stops short, wetting his lips. He wants to collapse into Bucky, but he can’t. He’d never be able to walk away if he did. 

“Uh,” Steve clears his throat when Bucky doesn’t say anything more. Steve could barely say no to Bucky, if Bucky begged him to stay, Steve didn’t know if he’d be able to break Bucky’s heart. His own was already beginning to shatter at the realization of what he was losing, but watching the pain in Bucky’s eyes after everything he’s suffered...it would be the worst thing he ever does. “No, Buck, I,” he inhales shakily. “Uh--I’m just, going to go--”

“Steve,” Bucky snaps, his posture going immediately rigid. He advances towards Steve with fluid steps, until they were only a few feet apart. “What the hell is going on with you? Did someone hurt you? Did _ Stark _do something because I swear--” 

“Stark didn’t do anything,” Steve interrupts. “I just want to go home,” he admits, and stares at the marble floor so that he doesn’t cry. His hands curl into stubborn fists, making his injured wrist throb in protest. When Bucky is only a few feet away, Steve takes a step back to put more distance between them, tripping a little on his own feet. “It’s been a long few days, and I have plants, remember? They need to be watered. So I’m. I’m gonna go. To do that.” 

“Peggy has the spare key to the apartment. She can water the plants,” Bucky accuses, his eyes narrowed. “This is more than that, Steve, I ain’t stupid. Talk to me.” 

“Don’t,” Steve shakes his head, taking a step backwards. “Let’s not do this right now. I just need to go home.” 

Bucky looks heartbroken, his hands falling limp at his side, looking utterly defeated. “What happened? We’ve been fine this whole time, I don’t understand--” 

“I _just_ want to go home,” Steve repeats stubbornly, looking away from Bucky’s wide blue eyes. His tongue feels thick in his dry mouth, stubbornly not wanting to say the words he knows he needs to if he’s going to get Bucky to let him go. 

Bucky was loyal to a fault, he wasn’t going to let Steve go easily.

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs, not bothering to hide the hurt on his face. “Please don’t.” 

“I have to, though,” Steve breathes unevenly, and a few traitorous tears flee his eyes, scattering down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I have to.” 

“What did I do?” Bucky asks, so quietly that Steve has to look up at him, startled. His face is resigned, flat, like he only ever expected Steve to leave him. Like he knew he was going to ruin it eventually. “I don’t--I don’t get it. We were happy.”

Steve shakes his head. “S’not you--”

“It’s not you, it’s me?” Bucky laughs without humour. “Really, Steve? After--after everythin’ we’ve been through, _ that’s _what you give me? Don’t I deserve more than that?” 

Steve wipes at his tears with this unbandaged hand. “You didn’t do anything,” Steve snaps, shaking his head. “And...I didn’t, either. You deserve the _ world, _Buck, I just can’t be the guy who gives it to you.” 

“I don’t understand. Just this morning, we were texting like everything was fine, and now--”

“And now.” Steve confirms, his entire body shaking. “And now I’m going to walk out of here, and you’ve got to let me, Buck. No more of this.” 

Bucky’s jaw clenches. “No more of what? Of us?” 

“Of any of it!” Steve cries, throwing his hands up in the air. “I can’t be here--I can’t sit by and watch you go on missions and get hurt and triggered and...and have to face the monsters that _ tortured _you all over again. I’m not strong enough for that.” He grabs the dog tags around his neck, the heavy metal of them suddenly leaving his chest feeling exposed and naked as soon as he lifts them from around his head. 

He places them on Bucky’s counter, and tries not to think about how it feels like he’s taken off a limb. 

Bucky’s eyes track the movement with a wide, horrified stare. “Steve, please--”

“And it’s not just that,” Steve wipes a fist over his eye to catch the falling tears. He had to _ hurt _Bucky, as much as he hated it. He had to make sure Bucky didn’t come after him, didn’t try to contact him. “It’s everything, Buck. This has been coming for a long time.” 

Bucky looks bewildered. “What do you _ mean--” _

“We don’t work!” Steve shouts, “Bucky, look at us. We don’t _ work. _I was just the first person to show you kindness in 80 years, and--and you were just some mystery that I wanted to solve! Now I’ve got it all figured out, and I’m done. I’m walking away while I still can.”

Bucky was _ loyal. _Steve had to hurt him so that Bucky would let him walk away. He hated himself for it, but he knew how hard Bucky would fight to keep him there if he didn’t. This would be better for them, in the long run. Better for Bucky, safer for Steve’s heart. This way he could brace himself for the pain, instead of coming home from work one day to find that Bucky didn’t want him.

That one bites, Steve can see it on Bucky’s face, the pain he causes. “You don’t mean that,” Bucky shakes his head. “Steve,” 

“I do mean it,” Steve swallows, sticking up his chin. He had to be convincing. “I don’t want you in my life anymore, Bucky. I’m done.” 

“No--”

“You’ll be alright, without me,” Steve digs his nails into his fists so hard he feels blood dribble out. It’s hot and sticky, it makes his stomach roll. He was shaking. “You’re stronger than me.” 

“I’m not,” Bucky whispers, and Steve thinks he’s maybe crying, but he can’t check. He can’t look at Bucky’s face without falling apart. He takes another step towards Steve. “Stevie, baby, I don’t know what you’re doing or why you’re doing it, but _ please _ don’t walk out right now,” Bucky’s voice breaks a little when he says, “I need you.”

“I have to,” Steve lets a small, broken sob escape. “I have to, Buck, I don’t belong here. I need to go back to my apartment, and work, and _ life. _I can’t sit in this tower and pretend like I have any business being here!” 

“I did this for _you_!” Bucky shouts, slamming his fist down on the counter. The sudden noise makes Steve jump about half a foot in the air, and he wraps his arms, cast and all, around himself to calm his racing heart, not caring about the blood from the wound on his palms. “I broke _ programming _ , I got away from Hydra, I _ trusted _ Tony Stark--for _ you! _And now you’re just going to walk away the minute I get some freedom? What, it’s not as fun for you when I’m no longer a charity case? Is that it, Steve? Because last night you told me you loved me, and now you’re getting ready to leave for good, so forgive me if I don’t know what to believe."

"Believe that I'm doing this for the right reasons, if--if there is such a thing." Steve manages to choke out. "Please believe that."

Bucky won't even meet his gaze. "I was going to--" He laughs at himself, deeply bitter and self deprecating. He runs a hand back through his hair, turning the longish locks into a ruffled mess. It looks impossibly good, and Steve hates that he even notices. What was Bucky going to say? What was he planning on doing? 

"I was going to do somethin' big, Ace. For us. I was gonna build us a life together," Bucky's bottom lip trembles but he bites it hard. "I thought you were going to be the one person that stayed. Why can't you prove me right?” 

Steve hugs his arms tighter around himself, blood smeared on his hands and dripping down the floor. His chest shakes with sobs, his stomach contents curdling with the force of his self hatred, the fact that he had to do this to Bucky. But he wouldn’t risk being the reason Hydra gets Bucky back. He had to hurt him bad enough that if Steve got taken, Bucky wouldn’t even notice. 

“You’re going to do great things, Buck, and you’re gonna tear Hydra apart and...and it’s gonna be good. You’re going to be a hero. But I don’t want you in my life anymore.”

“You’re bleeding,” Bucky says, his voice immediately softer, though there was still an edge to it--a reserve. Bucky was hurt. His metal arm reaches out to grab Steve’s injured hands, and Steve snatches his fingers away like he’d been burned. 

He did it because he didn’t want to feel those tender hands on him, or else he’d melt right into Bucky’s embrace and never be strong enough to leave. 

But he sees Bucky’s eyes, and he knows what Bucky thinks. Bucky’s face shuts down, and Steve knows Bucky thinks he flinched because it was his metal arm. This, at least, would work. 

“You’re afraid of me,” Bucky nods slowly, a few tears escaping his eyes. “Okay. It. It makes sense, now. I get it. You don’t trust me to be careful with you, you’ve...seen a different side of me, these past couple of weeks. You’re--you’re afraid.” 

“No!” Steve cries, taking a step towards Bucky but hesitating. Bucky reads it as further proof. As much as he had to hurt Bucky, he couldn’t confirm Bucky’s worst fear. He couldn’t be that cruel. “Buck, no, I’m not I’m--”

“S’okay,” Bucky shrugs, but his bottom lip is trembling. He won’t look Steve. “Don’t lie.” 

“I’m _ not,” _ Steve says vehemently, but he can see in Bucky’s eyes that it’s no use; Bucky won’t believe him anyway. He’s solidified in his resolve, and all Steve can do now is leave and give them both a clean break. “I’m _ not _afraid of you,” He says as he backs out, because maybe when Bucky has calmed down he’ll think about this conversation and see it differently. Maybe he’ll see that this is for the best, and maybe he’ll see where Steve is coming from. “But this is how it has to be.” 

With that, he steps in the elevator and pushes the button to be taken to the main level. As he looks up, the last thing he sees is Bucky’s betrayed face with tears streaming freely from his eyes. 

Steve had never seen someone look so scared and so broken at the same time. He had never, in his life, felt like more of a monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Temporary break up


	19. let me in from out of the cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Men,” Peggy scoffs. “I shudder to think what the world would come to if there were no women in the world to set you thick-skulled homosapiens straight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just.......wait for it, before you decide you hate me, okay? :)  
Love you all to the moooooon <3

_That the air warms up when you walk in the room_   
_That I still dream about the night we met_   
_How I don't mean it now as I meant it then, when I said_

_What could be as lonely as love?_   
_What could ever hurt this much?_   
_What if you're the only one?_

_So let me in let me in_   
_From out of the cold_   
_I'm okay, doing fine - the greatest lie ever told_   
_Even I don't recognise reflections of mine_   
_When I'm the next call down the emergency line, they'll say_

_What could be as lonely as love?_

\--- "What could be as lonely as love", Amber Run

* * *

Steve’s life gains some semblance of normality, after that conversation. He goes to his apartment, he showers, and he sleeps. He cries until his face is swollen. He lets himself have the evenings to be broken and wallow in self-pity and guilt.

In the morning, he returns to work, teaches his classes, and rides the subway home. The routine is stale, but it’s easy enough to focus on. His heart isn’t in it, but then again, his heart is so broken he’s not sure where it is. Maybe it would always stay wherever Bucky was. That seemed fitting.

It was almost like the past few months had been a dream--like everything that had happened, from the creaking floorboards that alerted him of Bucky’s presence to the night they confessed their feelings to each other had all been one, wonderful dream, and it was over now. Reality had set in.

Steve tries not to notice, but it’s hard to ignore the men dressed head to two in black, talking secretly into their cell phones and making direct eye-contact with Steve. 

He wasn’t an idiot--he noticed when they crossed the street to follow him, the pictures they snuck of him out and about. 

They weren’t exactly _ discreet, _and these days he was feeling more than a little paranoid.

He makes sure to stay in big crowds, to ride the subway instead of a cab, to keep his phone in his hand at all times in case he needed to call for help. 

But they don’t approach him, and he gets back into his apartment safely at the end of his work day, shutting and locking the door behind him, sagging against it and closing his eyes in relief. Home was good--home was _ safe. _

“Welcome home,” Natasha snaps from three feet in front of Steve, arms folded over her chest, one eyebrow raised.

Steve jumps back hard, smashing his head against the wall and cursing, grabbing the injured spot. “Ow! Christ--Nat? What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in--”

Natasha sighs, but walks into the kitchen, rummaging around in Steve’s freezer to find his Frozen Injury Peas, tossing them at him with a lazy throw. “I think I should be asking what the hell _ you’re _ doing here instead of spending your time at the tower with your boyfriend, who, by the way, is totally sulking and being a giant _ baby _.” 

Steve catches the peas clumsily with his casted hand, and presses them to his head with his casted hand, feeling like he was utterly falling apart. “We’re not--” he cuts himself off. He didn’t want to talk about this. His mind snaps to Bucky. “How is he doing?” 

Natasha takes a seat at the dining room table, and Steve falls down heavy into the chair opposite her, leaning hard on the elbow of his casted wrist. He didn’t want to think about how easy it was for her to break into places. She looks unimpressed. “He’s adjusting well, all things considered. But he’s hurting. Pretty bad, I think. Certainly worse than he’s letting on.” 

“Getting along with everyone?” Steve presses her for more information, hungry for any piece of the story that will make him feel closer to Bucky, like the distance hasn’t really been between them since he left. 

Like he didn’t ruin everything.

“Him and Sam are…” she sighs, rubbing the space between her eyebrows like the very thought of the two of them is giving her a tension headache. “Stark has been trying to do some team-bonding stuff. Last night was movie night,” 

“That sounds nice--”

“We never got to the movie,” Natasha sighs, still rubbing her temples. “Sam and Bucky spent three hours arguing about who was _ ‘thicker’ _and then had a knife throwing contest. In the wall of the apartment. Stark almost had an aneurysm watching the whole thing--that is, when he wasn’t taking bets on which one of them would win a rap battle, of all things,” she breathes out slowly, calming herself from the clear frustration the mere memory brought her. “And then I think Sam put ketchup in Bucky’s socks.” 

Steve smiles softly at that, and at Natasha’s exasperated look, the smile turns into giggles, which turns into full-blown laughter. 

It only, of course, ends up breaking his heart a little more, because he knows he can’t be a part of that side of Bucky--the joking side, the side where he pranks Steve friends but adores them anyway. The part where all of his friends get together for _ movie nights. _He was already missing out on Bucky’s life. These were the times he’d dreamed of, all of them joking and hanging out, tucked up safe under Bucky’s arms, Bucky’s smell filling his nostrils, the rumble of Bucky’s laughter enough to excite a feeling of connectedness and peace in Steve’s core. 

He’d drift off to sleep to the sound of the people he loved most in this world teasing and bickering playfully, and everything would feel so _ perfect. _

It would all be like a dream. 

His laughter stops short, and he feels tears pricking his eyes as he realized he ruined any chance he had at that future. Embarrassed, he stares hard at the dining table, not looking up to meet Nat’s gaze. 

“Steve,” She murmurs softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Talk to me.”

He shakes his head. If he opens his mouth now, he won’t be able to censor what he says. 

She hesitates and then sighs. “Are you being followed?” 

His heart stops. How did she know that? Was _ she _having him followed? He looks up at her, eyes wide. “How did you--”

“The other day, when you stormed out of the tower,” She ran a hand through her hair and watched him for a reaction. “There was the body of a Hydra grunt found in the alleyway with cyanide in his mouth. A SHIELD agent who was tracking him found the body and his phone had an anonymous text with instructions to get you somewhere secure and then figure out a way to lure Barnes back.”

“I didn’t mean for him to die,” Steve says quickly, a few more traitorous tears falling from his face. “I was going to call you, so that y-you could bring him in for q-questioning, but then he just--”

“Steve,” She murmurs, offering him a sad, but comforting smile. “Hey. It’s alright, this is what Hydra does. It’s not your fault.” 

“It was--”

She cuts him off. “It’s hard,” She says sympathetically. “Right?”

He nods, unable to find his voice. 

“You know that technically, they’re the bad guys, and they wouldn’t hesitate to do worse to you than you watch him do to himself, but you still feel guilty.” She murmurs, her light eyes wide with understanding. 

“Yeah,” Steve croaks out. “I mean, I’m responsible for his _ death, _Nat.”

“You didn’t feed him the cyanide, Steve. You weren’t even going after him. _ He _ sought you out, _ he _threatened you and someone you love. Everything that happened rests on that asshole’s shoulders. He would have hurt you and taken Barnes back in a heartbeat just for the renown it would have earned him with Hydra. Please try not to feel guilty for that,” She soothes. 

It’s a more maternal tone than Steve thinks he has ever heard from Natasha, but it works, and he feels a little bit calmer. She was right--the man would have done anything to get Bucky back. Steve couldn’t help what he did to himself. Perhaps, if he thought about it long enough, part of him was even relieved that a man like that wouldn’t be a threat to Bucky again.

“Did he hurt you?” Natasha murmurs, her eyes scanning Steve over for any signs of injury, but there is nothing except the slight throbbing in his head from being startled a few moments earlier and his still-casted wrist. It wouldn’t be fully healed for a few more weeks, at least. 

Steve swallows, setting down the peas and settling back into his chair. “No,” he tells her softly. “It wasn’t a big deal. He...ended it before I could call you, and then I was just so--so scared, that I ran like hell.”

“That’s why you sounded so freaked out that day when you called,” she sighs, shaking her head like she was blaming herself for not being able to tell something bigger was going on. “I had my suspicions but I wasn’t sure. Dammit, Steve.”

“I’m fine,” He tells her softly, wiping more tears. “Really, it was nothing. He didn’t get me. I’m safe.”

Natasha watched him for a long time with a knowing expression on her face, pursing her lips. “You walked away from Bucky thinking that if Hydra thought you meant nothing to him, they wouldn’t want to take you. Then you’d be safe.”

“Sort of,” He admits. “If I meant nothing to Bucky, then there was no way Hydra could _ use me _to get to him. Even if they took me...if I cut off all ties with Bucky, he wouldn’t know I’m gone. He wouldn’t come after me.”

Natasha swallows. “And then what? You think Hydra would just let you go out of the kindness of their heart?”

Steve shrugs, feeling small. “Hadn’t really thought that far.”

“They’d kill you,” Natasha snaps. “Without a second thought. If you stopped being a way to get to the Asset, you’d be useless to them.”

Deep down, Steve supposes he always knew that. Hydra wouldn’t keep him around if he was useless and letting him go free when he was friends with three Avengers wasn’t smart, either. They’d kill him. 

“But you already suspected that, didn’t you?” She narrows her eyes at him. “Jesus, Steve, why are you so eager to sacrifice yourself?” 

“I’m not,” He shrugs, feeling defeated. His chest felt tight. “I just couldn’t bear the thought of Hydra getting their hands on Bucky again, _ especially _not because of me. The things they did to him, Nat, I just--” His yes fill with tears again.

“I know,” She puts a hand over his, and meets his eyes with a soft, sincere gaze. “Steve. You didn’t have to pull this martyr stunt. Bucky’s been locking himself in his apartment pretty much ever since you walked out, except for when we barged in last night and basically forced him to have some human interaction. He thinks you left him because you didn’t _ love _him. Because you were afraid of him.” 

“I love him so much,” Steve presses his lips together. _ He won’t cry. _“But I had to make him think that I didn’t. Or else, he’d never have let me walk away.”

“You men-folk are idiots,” Natasha curses up to the roof. She takes a steadying breath. “Steve,” She tries again, squeezing his hands. “Hydra will _ not _use you to get to Bucky. We won’t let them.”

“I don’t want to be under 24/7 watch,” He argues, “Or have a security guard following me around. This is the only way.”

“You won’t need that,” She snorts. “You’ve got Bucky. That is--if you can get him to take you back after being such a dick.” 

Steve shakes his head. She wasn’t listening. “How does that solve anything?” 

“I know it seems like a fantastical idea,” Natasha rolls her eyes, “But if you _ explain _to Bucky what’s going on, maybe you guys would be able to come up with a solution together. Instead of you just deciding for him.”

“That doesn’t fix the problem--”

“Stark found a way to get rid of the trigger words.” Natasha interrupts, smiling softly. “He found a way to manipulate Bucky’s memory and programming so that the trigger words have no effect on him. No one from Hydra will be able to get him to snap back into Winter Soldier programming, no one will be able to make him writhe in pain like I did,” she looks away, guilty. “Hydra doesn’t know that. If they ever took you, they’d be expecting to get Bucky easily. When they use his useless trigger phrases and it doesn’t work, he’d have the element of surprise. He’d easily be able to overpower them,” she explains. “And besides, Bucky doesn’t work alone anymore. He’s part of a team--and you belong just as much to our family as he does. If something ever happened to you, all of us, even Stark, would be rushing to get you back.”

Steve’s tears finally fall, as her words register. “No more trigger phrases?” He echoes, a hand rising to cover his mouth in shock. That was--that was everything. He didn’t ever think something like that would be possible for Bucky--his sense of autonomy, his own mind, the power back in his own hands. 

Hydra would never again be able to snap their fingers and have their prized Asset back. Bucky was _ Bucky _now, and that was it. They’d never get him back. 

“No more trigger phrases, no more programming,” Natasha echoes. “So do you get it now? Your whole self-sacrifice thing was a little unnecessary. And a little dramatic, if you ask me.”

Steve runs a hand back through his hair, still processing this information. After a few beats, he exhales a long, tired breath, and shakes his head. “It still doesn’t change anything.

She gapes at him, her eyebrows trying to escape all the way into her hairline. “You’re _ kidding _ me.” 

“It’s _ amazing _ that now Hydra can never use me to get to Bucky--that they’ll never be able to get to him, _ period. _But does that really change the fact that Bucky and I were never going to work out in the first place?” Steve shrugs his shoulders, letting them drop heavily. He couldn’t let himself have hope. “We’re incompatible, Nat. It was only a matter of time.” 

“You love each other,” She presses. “You shouldn’t give up on that.”

“After what I did to him? Walking away when he needed me most?” Steve shakes his head. “He hates me. He’ll… I mean, how could I ask him to forgive me for that?”

“What you and Sasha have is _ worth _ fighting for,” She frowns at him. “I don’t know why you can’t get that through your _ thick _skull--”

“Look at me!” He gestures down to himself, shaking his head. He couldn’t let himself consider the possibility that he and Bucky might actually get a happy ending, it had taken too much hurt to get where he was. “My own body can barely keep me alive on a good day. I can’t keep up with _ four superheroes. _ Bucky was only with me because I was the only person _ on earth _that could see and hear him. I’m not going to hold him to that choice now that he’s free.”

Natasha watches him for a long time, studying his face, his tone. “You’re in one of your stubborn moods,” She says finally, pushing back from the table and getting to her feet. “Nothing I say right now is going to change your mind.” 

He clenches his jaw. She was right, he was solid in his resolve. It didn’t matter what she told him. He was deeply bitter about what he couldn’t have and hated himself for it. 

“I’m going to head out,” She murmurs, not even looking at him. “But promise me you’ll at least think about what I told you. He deserves a choice, Steve. He deserves the _ chance _to fight for you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Steve swallows. He would obsess over it, no doubt. But how selfish could he let himself be? 

Natasha hesitates at the threshold of the door. “Think about living the rest of your life without him.”

Steve swallows, not replying. He had nothing to say to that; her words painted a bleak future.

“Goodbye, Nat.” 

“Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“He really, really misses you.” 

Steve sags against the wall, hugging his arms, cast and all, around himself. His neck feels naked and exposed without the weight of Bucky’s dog tags around it. “See you later, Nat.” He just wanted to be alone.

She purses her lips at him like she might say more, but in the end she nods once. “See you.” And then she’s gone.

Steve slides down the wall to the floor, and lets the wracking sobs he’d been holding in overtake him, wishing more than anything, that he was in Bucky’s arms.

***

“My god,” Peggy exclaims, pinching the bridge of her nose as Steve finishes updating her on the last few weeks, days after Natasha’s visit. Steve was craving some socialization and he wanted Peggy’s advice on his dilemma. She looks like a vein might burst in her head. If Steve thought she was a woman of delicate sensibility, he might be nervous. But he knew Peggy was fine--just pissed. If anything, he should probably be scared for his own wellbeing. “You’re kidding me!” 

“I know, it’s been insane,” Steve shrugs, adjusting in his seat. Peggy’s apartment was a nice change of scenery from the inside of his own, the curtains opened wide to let the light of the bustling New York winter into the living room. “But I think I did the right thing, letting him go. I think it will be better for him, in the long run. And...I can only stand to get my heart broken so many times, Pegs. If I go back now and he decides in a few months, or even a few years, that I’m not what he wants...that will crush me.” 

Peggy arches her sculpted brow at him, as if waiting for him to say more. When he doesn’t, she groans and buries her face in her hands, horrified. “Oh, Steven,” She cries, her voice muffled, “Tell me you didn't!” 

“What?” Steve asks defensively, shifting in his seat under her disapproval. “Peggy--Hydra was going to use me to get to Bucky. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to him because of me. Now at least I know that Bucky can protect himself against Hydra, since Stark is gonna erase the trigger words, but I didn’t know that when I walked away from him.”

“You need to call James right now,” She waggles a finger at him. “And explain.” 

“What?” Steve squints at her. His heart, against his better judgement, gave a hopeful squeeze at her words. “No way.” 

“I’ve sat in this apartment and listened to stories of the ghost that haunted the room across the hall for _ far _too long to sit back and let you ruin what could be James’ last chance at a happy ending!” She snaps. There is a sharpness to her tone that makes Steve hesitate. Peggy really knew how to use her authority.

“He’ll be happy again,” he argues, “I was just convenient, Pegs. I was the only one that could physically be _ there _for him. It doesn’t mean we’re soulmates. He’s going to be fine. I’ve got nothing to offer him that he couldn’t find somewhere else, in much better packaging,” He gestures down to his pale, thin body, thinking of Bucky’s olive-toned skin and biceps wider than both of Steve’s thighs. There were over a billion people on this earth, Bucky could have any one of them. 

Hell, he could have all of them, if he wanted. 

But Steve just wasn’t enough for Bucky. He never would be.

“_ You _ are what he wants,” She slams her aged hand down on the table hard enough to make their teacups rattle. “You’re a goddamn fool, Steve, if you think you aren’t. I know James has changed since I last knew him, but I reckon he’s got the same undying loyalty he always had back then. He is loyal to a _ fault, _ he’d never leave you. Once he makes his mind up, he _ stays, _which is more than I can say for you right now.” 

“You don’t know that--”

“I do,” She insists, letting out a long sigh. “I do know that. If everything you’ve told me is true, then he did all of this for you, so that you two could be together. He didn’t _ want _ to be saved, Steve. James was ready to die. He fought to live and be free from Hydra because he wanted to be with _ you, _not because he wanted to date around or whatever construed idea you’ve got floating around in that blond head of yours.” 

Steve swallows. As stubborn as he wanted to be on this subject, Peggy was a voice of reason he couldn’t ignore. 

Bucky _ had _ fought for him. They had practically bent the government and SHIELD to yield to them, so that they could be together. Bucky overcame programming more than once, for _ Steve. _He risked his own life, multiple times, to protect Steve. He broke handcuffs to hold Steve close. He trusted people he never would have trusted, for Steve. He opened his heart. He fought for them.

But Peggy isn’t done. “What do you think he’s feeling right now, all alone with no one, having been left by the one person he thought he had his back in this world? And not to mention, by now SHIELD no doubt has him in combat and on missions. Don’t you think he’s scared? Don’t you think he probably needs you now more than _ ever _before?” She snaps at him. When she’s done, she sits back in her chair and straightens out her tea-length skirt with short, irritated movements. 

“Men,” Peggy scoffs. “I shudder to think what the world would come to if there were no women in the world to set you _ thick-skulled _ homosapiens straight.” 

Steve worries at his bottom lip with his teeth, letting Peggy’s words sink in. 

Bucky was probably going through hell right now, all alone with team mates that no doubt still didn’t trust him, and no support system for all the transitions he was experiencing; adjusting to modern-day technology, life in the tower, and combat with SHIELD. 

It didn’t matter what _ Steve _ was worried about; Bucky needed a friend and he had walked away. He’d abandoned him, and the fact that it had taken Steve _ this _long to see it made it worse.

The fact was that Bucky _ had _chosen him. He could have walked away, left Steve behind the minute he was free. But he fought for them. He wanted a future with Steve--he had said he was going to build them a life. 

Steve had no right to martyr himself--he had no right to deem himself the moral compass and make a decision for the both of them.

He had screwed up--_ royally-- _and he didn’t know if Bucky would ever be able to forgive him for the heartbreak he caused, for walking away in Bucky’s darkest hours. 

“You’re right,” Steve admits hoarsely, running his hand through his hair and tugging on it, punishment for what he’d done. “Christ, I’m such a goddamn idiot. You’re right. You’re right--what am I going to do, Pegs? I mean--how...how can he ever forgive me for this? It’s been almost three weeks--” 

Peggy loses some of her fire in favour of giving Steve a sympathetic purse of her lips. “He’s in love with you,” She tells him quietly. “And you with him. If I’ve learned anything in this long life, it’s that the rest will work itself out.” 

Steve wished desperately that he could have the same easy confidence in the future that Peggy seemed to have. “Yeah,” he clears his throat and pushes away from the table, standing on shaking legs. “I need to go,” He stammers, “I need to--I need to get to him.” 

“It’s about _ damn _ time!” She cheers, and nods to the door without standing. Steve notices she’s been slowing down these days, not as quick to her feet as she was when they first met. The colder seasons bothered her arthritis, he knew. “Go get him, Steven, and when you do, you make sure not to leave again, or I swear I’ll kick your _ arse _so hard your grandchildren will feel it!” 

“You got it!” He calls on his way out, smiling a little hearing Peggy swear and mutter something about M_erry Christmas to you too. _ For the first time in weeks, Steve felt _ hopeful. _ It was addictive, the blossoming lightness in his stomach, the feeling that maybe, just _ maybe, _he had a chance at a happy ending, if only he could convince Bucky to give him one more chance. “Thank you!” 

He rushes into his own apartment and fumbles around for his phone. Where the hell had he put it? He needed to call Bucky, he needed to know when they could meet, when he could beg Bucky to let him back into his life in any way he’d have him. 

Even if they could never be lovers again, even if Steve had burned that bridge forever, he would settle for friends, for acquaintances, for _ anything, _ just to be a part of Bucky’s life, his _ light _again. 

He thought once that he would be okay living his life in the shadow of Bucky Barnes and their epic love; but he realizes now how stupid a notion that was. 

Once you see the sun, a lightbulb doesn’t have the same brilliance--not even close. 

The light in Steve’s life had gone out, and he didn’t care how unhealthy or codependent that sounded. He needed Bucky--and he was pretty sure that in some sense, Bucky needed him. 

The rest would work itself out, it had to. As long as Bucky could find it in his heart to forgive Steve.

He grabs his phone and dials Bucky’s cell number, the one that he’d gotten the first day with Stark, praying desperately that his number hadn’t changed. As the phone rings, Steve stares out the window blankly, unseeing. 

It was Christmas Eve, he realized belatedly, as he counted up the days in his head since he and Bucky had last seen each other. 

Peggy’s voice calling after him _ had _said Merry Christmas--he’d heard her correctly. 

He made a mental note to return the next day with a gift for her, for all she had done for him. 

This day, five years ago, he and his mother were baking sugar cookies and singing along to Christmas carols. Their apartment would smell like gingerbread and eggnog, and it would all feel so _ safe. _Normal. Their own cozy little dream.

Now he was alone, getting an automated voicemail message from a number he wasn’t even sure still belonged to Bucky. 

He hadn’t purchased any gifts this year, he hadn’t decorated the apartment--he hadn’t watched a single Christmas movie or baked any Christmas cookies. His mother was probably rolling in her grave. Christmas had always been something special in her house.

What had Bucky done for Christmas? Did he celebrate? Steve didn’t know. He wanted the chance to find out.

The voicemail beeps, prompting Steve to leave a message and dragging him out of his thoughts. “Uh,” he stays, startled. “Hey, Buck--if this is even still your number,” He clears his throat. _ Get it together, Steve, _ “It’s me,” He curses himself. _ Stupid. _“It’s Steve. Look--I’m just calling, because...because I’m stupid, and I miss you. I want us to talk, and. Just. Call me back when you can.” He closes his eyes, defeated. He sounded like an idiot. 

He hung up the call and hugged his phone to his chest as if the sensation of cool glass and metal could bring Bucky back to him. He prayed silently to whatever force there was out there that it wasn’t too late, that he hadn’t broken Bucky’s heart beyond repair.

“_ \--Earlier this afternoon, we received witness reports saying that the _ new _ member of the Avengers seems to be the previous assassin, the Winter Soldier--” _Steve’s TV suddenly caught his attention. 

He kept the news channel on in the background because the silence of the apartment killed him, and because he was desperately waiting for any news of the Avengers. 

At the mention of Bucky, his attention snapped to the TV and he rushed for the remote, cranking the volume. 

A blonde reporter was standing in front of an empty street somewhere in Central Park. “_ I’m standing here at the site where, just hours ago, a foreign aircraft opened fire this Christmas Eve, and it wasn’t Santa’s Sleigh,” _ She explains in a matter-of-fact voice. _ “Thankfully, the Avengers were on the scene in seconds and there were no civilian casualties. The situation was quickly resolved. However, the new addition to our beloved team is unexpected to say the least, considering not long ago the Avengers went head-to-head with this mystery villain, who seems to not be a villain at all. The Winter Soldier, AKA Bucky Barnes, fought his first battle alongside the Avengers today.” _The screen cuts to footage of Nat, Sam, Clint, Tony and Bucky standing in a well-rehearsed triangle with Tony at the point, palms up, ready to face the armed aircraft that seemed to be sporting some kind of alien. 

Steve was more interested in Bucky. Bucky was in full tac gear, but it was navy blue this time instead of all black, and he had all sorts of weapons and knives holstered. He wasn’t wearing goggles or a face mask, his features were stoney and his posture was ready. He was so handsome it took Steve’s breath away for a moment. He could almost feel all of America falling in love with Bucky as he was, all over again.

“_We’ve got insider reports saying that Mr. Barnes has been cleared for combat with the Avengers and has been declared Not Criminally Responsible for his crimes during his time with Hydra due to the brainwashing and torture he endured at their hands,” _ The blonde says, _ “This is the first time Mr. Barnes has been spotted with the Avengers, but it likely won’t be the last. Pepper Potts issued a PR statement saying that the Winter Soldier is a permanent addition to the team and that he has the full support of the Avengers backing him,” _ She says, _ “As for me, well I’m just glad there aren’t aliens walking around New York on Christmas. Happy Holidays everyone, and back to you, John.” _

The segment ends, cutting back to the headquarters with another reporter about to take up a new story that Steve couldn’t give a damn about. 

Steve stood opened-mouthed, staring at the screen. So Bucky had finally gone public with the Avengers--they didn’t waste much time getting him out into the field, and from the looks of the short clip, there seemed to be a good dynamic between him and the other Avengers. 

It looked like they had each other’s backs. They were a well-oiled machine. They had neutralized the threat. Together.

They trusted each other. That was so much more than Steve could have ever hoped for. Whatever Natasha had said about Bucky struggling, at least he wasn’t completely alone. Perhaps he was even making friends. 

Steve dials the number again with quick, desperate fingers. _ Please pick up, _he begs, but he gets voicemail again. From the looks of the video footage and the news coverage, no Avengers seemed to be injured and overall the confrontation didn’t look all that serious. A foreign aircraft was as common as a robbery in New York--the Avengers simply took care of it and life carried on. It was likely a Hydra vessel, so Steve was happy to hear it was taken care of and that presumably, everyone was unhurt.

“It’s Steve,” he breathes, when the voicemail picks up. “Again. Look--I just saw you on TV and, and I hope you’re okay. I’m worried. I know I--I fucked up. Just please, Buck. Call me back.” 

He stares down at his phone for a moment, a useless tool that would do nothing to link him to Bucky. He tosses it onto the counter and rakes his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth in the same kitchen that Bucky had stopped him from falling off the stool, the same living room where Bucky had admitted they were in love. The apartment was full of their memories together. 

Steve had fucked up, maybe in the worst way. He’d left Bucky when he should have proven himself, should have stayed. He let his own fear and insecurity get in the way of the one-shot he had at true love.

He should have fought at least half as hard as Bucky fought for them, heartbreak be damned.

“Dammit,” Steve curses to himself. It would be a lonely Christmas Eve. Since his mom passed, Steve would spend the night with Sam or Natasha or Clint and they’d all get together in the morning and make pancakes and open gifts, since none of them had anyone else, but he didn’t feel in the mood for celebrations, and there was no reason why everyone else should suffer for Steve’s own mistake.

He had done this to himself, turned away everyone he cared about, shut himself in to wallow in self-pity. It was pathetic, really.

Steve pauses in his inner rant when he hears a heavy, unfamiliar knock at his door. 

He swallows, suspicion immediately overcoming him. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and that knock definitely didn’t belong to Peggy or anyone else he knew. Perhaps the Hydra agents that had been sneaking around him the past few days had finally gotten the balls to confront him in person. 

Quietly, he sneaks up to the front door and glances carefully through the peep-hole, his jaw-dropping when he sees who is on the other side. 

He swings the door open with a heavy tug, and his heart jumps into his throat. “Buck,” He croaks. “You’re here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lets just all agree that 1) yes, Stevie is a stubborn idiot that overthinks waaaaaay too much and 2) thankgod for Peggy  
3) Bucky is BACK!!!!!!!! 
> 
> I updated this a few days earlier than expected because I felt bad about the sad comments on the last chapter :( I know these are scary times so I couldn't leave this fic on a sad note for even a day longer!!!


	20. so hold my body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, Ace,” Bucky rasps, his voice thick and hoarse. It’s like music to Steve’s ears anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting there!! SO close to the end!! I've got a couple more chapters almost finished, and then an epilogue planned, and BOOM! 
> 
> Thank you as always for you support, your comments/kudos make my day every time. 
> 
> Hope you are all staying safe! enjoy!

_If this was meant for me, why does it hurt so much?_   
_And if you're not made for me, why did we fall in love?_

_A knock at my door_   
_I thought I was alone_   
_Unaware of what I thought I needed_   
_I drop like a stone_   
_If I'm not mistaken, then I was the last to know_   
_And if you return for me, I'd never want for more_

\- "Fear of the Water" - SYML 

* * *

Bucky is wearing the same navy tac suit Steve saw him sporting on TV, as if he were fresh from the fight, little splotches of blood and dirt on the uniform that hinted at him coming right from the scene.

But the fight wasn’t live when Steve had watched it, and from the dried blood on Bucky’s cheek that had already started to flake off in some places, Steve assumed the face-off had occurred sometime earlier that evening. 

For whatever reason, Bucky hadn’t been bothered to go home and change since then. Had he gotten Steve’s call?

“Hey, Ace,” Bucky rasps, his voice thick and hoarse. It’s like music to Steve’s ears anyway.

Steve’s heart is somewhere in his throat--or maybe it’s his stomach? He feels like he can barely breathe. 

They stare at each other, both of them drinking in the other. 

There was so much they needed to say, so much had _ happened _between them and the air was heavy with everything the silence said for them. Steve’s guilt, Bucky’s broken heart. The abandonment, the betrayal. The fear.

“You’re hurt,” Steve murmurs stupidly, reaching out to touch the jagged cut on Bucky’s cheekbone. 

He drops his hand when he realizes what he was about to do, and blinks, guilty. 

He didn’t have the right to do that anymore; Bucky wasn’t _ his _to touch. As it stands now, Bucky should be recoiling from him. Steve had broken both their hearts.

“It’s nothing, I can hardly feel it,” Bucky shrugs, and then he clears his throat. “Look, uh. I just wanted to stop in quickly. I’ve wanted to for a while...” He stared up at the ceiling and then back down to the floor, like he had no idea how to say what he wanted to get across. The silence hangs a little bit longer. “I...um. I have somethin’ for you.” 

Steve frowns. That was the last thing he expected Bucky to say to him. Tell him off? Yeah. Cry in his face? Maybe. But bringing him something? Yeah, Steve didn’t see that one coming. 

“Buck, what--”

“It’s Christmas,” Bucky tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, and Steve notices he’s clean-shaven and has gotten a haircut, a cleaner and stylized version of the long-hair the Winter Soldier sported. Despite the blood and grime, Bucky, as always, looked heart-breakingly handsome. He was sure that since going public, the Winter Soldier was going to build up an enthusiastic fan base of teenage girls in no time at all, the same way Clint and Sam both had. “And I know you love Christmas,” He clears his throat, looking nervous. “The team said that you weren’t returning any of their calls and that you usually celebrate Christmas with them, so I figured you were alone and. I just couldn’t stand the thought of that,” He tells Steve quietly. 

Bucky was right--Steve had been avoiding them all after his blowout with Bucky and his visit from Natasha. He felt guilty enough about walking away, he didn’t want his friends pressuring him to run back to Bucky when he thought that was the worst thing for them both. 

Now, though, staring into Bucky’s earnest eyes, Steve didn’t know what the hell he was thinking. It would be worth it to be hurt a thousand times over, for Bucky. It would be worth whatever heartbreak might come out of this. 

“So, here.” Bucky produces a little box from one of the many pockets in his tac suit and shyly presents it with his flesh hand to Steve. “It’s not much, but I just--”

“Buck,” Steve shakes his head. “You--you shouldn’t have gotten me anything,” He didn’t deserve this, this man with a heart the size of Texas, those hopeful blue eyes, the little box. None of it, Steve didn’t deserve to _ breathe the same air _as Bucky, let alone be accepting gifts from him like him showing up at Steve’s door wasn’t already the best thing to happen in over a month. “Not after what I did--”

“It’s a little crumpled,” Bucky begins apologetically, going on as if Steve hadn’t spoken. “I’ve, uh. I’ve kept the box on me for a while now, trying to work up the courage to give it to you,” He presses his lip together and meets Steve’s eyes. “I was just across the hall, visiting Pegs.” He explains with a fond smile for the lady. “I wasn’t over there long before she convinced me to smarten up and _ march my sorry ass over here. _Her words.”

“Did you get my call?” Steve mumbles, his mouth dry. 

Bucky frowns at him, and then digs in the breast pocket of his tac gear. He pulls out his touch-screen phone, which looked like it had been shot, the screen shattered, the phone nearly split in half. He waggles it up for Steve to see. “Sorry, Ace. Haven’t gotten the chance to get it fixed yet.” 

Steve wanted to point out that there was a point when technology _ couldn’t _be fixed, when it had to just be replaced, but something about saying that outloud felt like it would hit a little too close to home.

“Bucky--”

“And it’s Christmas Eve,” Bucky clears his throat, still not meeting Steve’s eyes. They feel like strangers. “So what better time to get rid of this thing I’ve been carrying around for the past couple weeks than now?”

“You had this in your pocket during the fight?” Steve blanches, eyebrows raised. That was so _ Bucky-- _doing the right thing, the hopelessly romantic thing. The thing that Steve absolutely did not deserve. “I can’t accept this, Buck.”

“Just open it,” Bucky offers a shy smile. It’s small, but it _ is _a smile, and it’s charming all the same. Steve would like to meet the person who wasn’t awestruck by Bucky’s smile. He’s not sure how he deserves it, after everything, but there it was all the same. “Please?”

And because Steve can’t say no to a face like that, a shy smile on a split lip, he tugs delicately at the little ribbon, dying inside at picturing Bucky’s giant sausage fingers trying to tie the little bow just right, maybe even getting Natasha to help him. Steve’s heart squeezes at that image.

When the ribbon comes loose, Steve opens the box and gasps. 

“Your dog tags,” Steve swallows, his eyes welling up with tears. The familiar weight of them fills his palm as he lifts them from the box. Bucky was so hopelessly romantic Steve didn’t even know what to do with him. Steve knew what the dog tags meant for Bucky. He held on to them for so long after the war, they were a piece of him. 

It was heartbreaking enough when Bucky slid them over his head the first time, before Steve had walked away. 

Now, after what Steve had done, when he absolutely didn’t deserve them, the weight of the present settled heavy on Steve’s heart.

“Look on the back,” Bucky urges softly, tucking a piece of his long hair behind his ear. “I, uh. I added something.” 

With shaking fingers, Steve turned the little metal plate over. There, on the opposite side to that which held all of Bucky’s identification information, was a new engraving.

“_For my Stevie, the keeper of my heart,” _ Steve reads out loud, his voice breaking. “Buck,” he shakes his head, already putting the dog tags back in the box. The words _ the keeper of my heart _kept ringing in the background of his mind. The meaning behind them, the message Bucky was trying to get across. “I--I can’t accept this.”

“Yes you can,” Bucky insists, stepping closer. His voice is sincere, soft. He smells like blood and gunpowder--but it’s not unpleasant. “Steve--these...they were always yours, even before we met.” 

Steve wasn’t following, gaping down at the dog tags and trying to fight back the tears. 

“Those tags were...a part of myself I held onto, through all my years trapped in this apartment, a memoir of--of the life I had during the war and with my family,” Bucky continues. He moves even closer and Steve can feel the heat rolling off of him, which was making it incredibly hard to think. Steve swallows and finds his throat dry.

“They helped me remember who I was, when I felt like I was going crazy because no one could see or hear me,” He explains softly, an intense look burning in his pale eyes. “But then I met _ you, _ and _ you _ reminded me, more than ever, why I should fight, and why I should hold on, no matter how high the odds are stacked against me--or us. I think--I think that even before I met you, I-I _ knew _you. I felt like there was something coming that was bigger than me, something to hold on to.” 

“Bucky,” Steve breathes, his heart pounding loud in his ears. “I just--”

“Don’t you remember?” Bucky pleads. “When you asked me, all those months ago, why I couldn’t move on? What was _ holding _me to this apartment?” 

“It’s because you weren’t dead,” Steve shakes his head, tears burning in his eyes. “You were in cryo.”

“I could have let go of _ me. _ Myself--everything that makes me _ me _ . I could have let go and been the perfect soldier Hydra wanted, but I _ didn’t_. I told you back then that something felt _ unfinished, _ like I had more to do,” Bucky’s voice is quick and desperate, he trips over his words a little as he rushes to get them all out, like he’s afraid Steve is going to slam the door in his face at any moment. “It wasn’t Hydra’s unfinished missions, Ace. It was you. I _ knew _ there was something worth holding on to my humanity for, and it was this. You. Us.” Bucky takes a deep breath, “No one could really see or hear me, years after Peggy stopped being able to. Until you. Because the universe was tryin’ to tell me somethin’, doll. It was tellin’ me...to hold on, ‘cause something great was coming. And it was _ this,” _Bucky gestures to the space between them. “You.”

What does one say when someone pours their heart out like that? What could Steve do, with those pale eyes scorching into him, staring right into his soul? He was glued in place, held by the weight of Bucky’s words and his heavy gaze.

“Oh, Buck,” Steve sniffles, and finally the tears fall fat and heavy down his cheeks. 

“Sweetheart,” Bucky breathes, and the honey-sweet voice brings Steve back to the first time he ever heard it, when Bucky laughed at him, when he breathed Steve’s name for the first time. “You’ve always been the one to keep my heart safe, y’know that, don’t you?” 

He plucks the dog tags from the box and slides them over Steve’s head with slow, calculated movements. 

He lingers for a moment, testing Steve’s reaction to the proximity, maybe, and then drops his hands again. 

“So I’m gonna remind you why _ you _should fight,” Bucky’s voice dips a little deeper, goes a little quieter, and Steve sees the resolve in his face even before Bucky moves any closer, “‘Cause I’ve had some time away from you, and it’s been driving me crazy. I’m not ready to give you up, and I know you can’t be ready either. We deserve to be...together. I know we do.”

“You--” Steve can't get a word in, he's biting his lip hard enough it hurt just to keep the sobs in. He didn’t know what he was feeling--guilt, definitely, love, longing, fear--it was a million different emotions crashing over him.

“Tell me you need me even--even _ half _as much as I need you, and it’ll be enough for me,” Bucky begs, his eyes wild, hungry. “Tell me you still love me, that what Natasha told me about why you left is true. Tell me you’re not afraid of me, that you were just--”

“Trying to protect you in my stupid, stubborn way?” Steve interrupts softly, his lip trembling. “Y-yeah, Buck. Of _ course _ I still love you, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop. And I could never, ever be afraid of you. I know you'd never hurt me.” _Not like I hurt you. _

“You walked away,” Bucky swallows, the fire finally flickering in his determined gaze. 

“Yeah,” Steve nods, shuddering a little. “I did. And--and it was the worst decision I’ve ever made, Buck. I got so in my head, I just. I thought I was doing the right thing for you, and for my own heart. I didn’t have half a clue how stupid I was being, or how much it would hurt to be away from you. I feel like I’ve been more of a ghost these past few days than you ever were,” Steve admits, blinking up at Bucky with hopeful eyes, desperate to see some flicker of understanding there.

“Then don’t ever walk away again,” Bucky nearly growls, stepping closer in a sort of predatory way that sends a chill of excitement up Steve’s spine. “And you’ll have me forever.” 

“I won’t,” Steve breathes out, shaking his head vigorously. “I won’t.” He wouldn't let himself be without Bucky Barnes again. He wasn't going to let him go. 

Before Bucky even tilts his head down to signal his intentions, Steve flings his arms (cast and all) around Bucky and crashes their lips together, kissing Bucky like he was dying for it, which he damn well was. 

“Bucky,” Steve breathes between kisses, not caring how sloppy or desperate they were, not caring when their teeth clashed together or Bucky gripped him tight enough to hurt. “I was so stupid--”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees breathlessly, nipping at Steve’s bottom lip in retaliation, but his arms are pulling Steve in close until their torsos are flush together, Steve on his tiptoes to reach Bucky’s lips, so the rebuttal doesn’t sting. 

“Can you forgive me?” Steve pulls back to peer into Bucky’s eyes, his tone serious. He can feel Bucky’s arms tighten in response to him putting a few inches between them, as if he planned on physically holding Steve as close as possible for as long as he could. “For hurting you?” 

Bucky considers him, pretending to take a long time with the decision, despite his vise-like grip around Steve’s waist that said he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

“It hurt,” Bucky admits, pressing their foreheads together and closing his eyes. “It hurt like--like nothing ever hurt before,” He whispers, “But I knew, deep down, that our story wasn’t over yet. Even when you walked away, it didn’t _ feel _finished. So I guess I just held on to that. I knew we’d find a way back to each other...and I can't stay mad at you Ace. Not when I know you so well. I see _why _you thought what you were doing was right.”

"I was being stupid." 

"Yeah," Bucky swallows, "But love makes us do stupid things, right?" 

Part of Steve hates that Bucky was making excuses for him; he was sure he'd feel better if Bucky yelled, maybe cried a little, blamed Steve for the heartbreak, called him a couple nasty names. This easy forgiveness didn't sit right. He knew he wasn't worthy of that loving gaze.

“I was an asshole,” He whispers, his throat dry and hoarse. “I’m so, _ so _ sorry, Buck.” 

“I forgive you,” Bucky tells him quietly, his voice sincere. “As long as you promise to never pull that martyr bullshit on me again anytime soon.” 

“Not anytime _ ever,” _Steve promises, rubbing their noses together. He would never be able to walk away from this again. He had made up his mind and his heart, and once Steve did that, once he really dug his heels in, the devil himself wouldn’t be able to pull him out of Bucky’s arms.

“Heard you ganked a Hydra grunt,” Bucky says appreciatively, tilting his head and waggling his eyebrows. “All by yourself.” 

“I did,” Steve grins, laughing a little, feeling on top of the world. “Well, technically the cyanide got to him but I got a few good hits in before he decided to pull that one.” 

“I think we need to get you a taser or somethin’, if you’re going to be dating a villian/superhero and all,” Bucky muses, probably only half-joking. “You’re precious cargo, y’know. Gotta keep my best guy safe.”

“Or you could teach me how to fight,” Steve suggests. The thought of Bucky shirtless in sweats, instructing Steve through hands-on teaching how to protect himself...yeah. That was a good idea, maybe the best one Steve’s had, ever. 

“You got it, doll,” Bucky agrees easily, his thumb caressing Steve’s cheekbone as delicately as if Steve were made of porcelain. “Anything.” 

“God--this is,” He laughs a little, feeling like he was in a dream. “This is a perfect Christmas Eve.” 

Bucky smiles softly at him, pulling back a little to offer a wink. It makes Steve’s heart skip. “Does that mean I can come in?” 

Steve laughs quietly, the disbelief really hitting him. “Yes,” he grins, tugging Bucky in by the belt loops in his tack gear, “Come in.”


	21. Move me baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But you still need a shower.”
> 
> Bucky peers down at him. There is something in his eyes that Steve doesn’t immediately recognize, but it makes him feel hot, like he needs to suddenly open a window and let some fresh air in. 
> 
> Bucky swallows. “Yeah. Guess you’re right,котенок.” 
> 
> There is something unspoken hanging between them, a boundary they had teased but never crossed before, not really. Steve held his breath.
> 
> Bucky clears his throat. “Will you…” he tries again, looking at the ground and then back to Steve, his pupils wide. “D’you want to join me?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's about to get smutty :) FINALLY am I right?

_When you move_   
_I'm put to mind of all that I wanna be_   
_When you move_   
_I could never define all that you are to me_

_So move me, baby_   
_Shake like the bough of a willow tree_   
_You do it naturally_   
_Move me, baby_

\- "Movement", Hozier 

* * *

When Steve steps aside, Bucky gently pushes into the apartment, closing his eyes and breathing deep. Steve takes a moment to appreciate Bucky--metal arm and all--in the apartment. The sight of him, there, taking up space. It made Steve breathe a little easier. Already, within seconds, the place began to feel more like home once more. 

“Mm. S’good to be home,” Bucky smiles at Steve, and Steve feels guilty for keeping him away from the apartment for so long. For keeping _ them _ apart. This place was Bucky’s home even more than it was Steve’s--and now it could be theirs, _ together. _

The concerns Steve had before are still there. Bucky was still an Avenger and would have to deal with the trials and tribulations that came along with that. The late nights, the week-long missions, the danger. 

The difference was, Steve knew he could be strong enough to take it. The worry, the pacing, the heartbreak. Whatever they went through, it would be worth it for the quiet moments, the laughter. He _ would _fight for this, and they would be alright.

They’d be together, whatever storm they had to face.

“Buck,” Steve scratches at the back of his neck, the guilt still gnawing at him. His bones feel like mush in the worst way possible, like he'd very much enjoy melting into the floor under Bucky's feet and living there, where he didn't have to stomach the weight of the grief that he'd caused them both. He would never forget the look on Bucky's face as he walked out of his apartment in the tower. “I need to apologize again--”

“Hey,” Bucky tugs Steve into his chest and buries his nose in Steve’s hair, effectively silencing his racing mind by smothering the blond into him. “S’okay. I get it. You were afraid--not of me, I know that, now--but _ for _ me.”

“I was,” Steve agrees, tucking as close as he could into Bucky. “And I was an idiot for it.”

“And when people are afraid, they do stupid things.”

“Yeah.”

Bucky rubs slow circles up and down Steve’s back, his metal hand gripped tightly around Steve’s waist, keeping their bodies close. Steve feels more alive for it, for the contact, for Bucky's voice in his hair. “Natalia told me everything.” 

“I should have known she wouldn’t keep it to herself,” Steve sighed. "What a snitch." 

“Aren’t you glad she didn’t?” 

“Wouldn’t you have come anyway?” Steve dares, arching a brow. It was a bold accusation, but he knew Bucky well enough to feel comfortable making it. Bucky was a hopeless romantic, especially when Steve deserved it least of all. As Peggy had said, _ loyal to a fault. _

Bucky looks guilty. “I--yeah. I probably would have, but it would have been a hell of a lot more nerve-wracking.” 

Steve cups Bucky’s face and gives him a soft peck on the nose. “That’s why I love you.” 

“You love me ‘cause I’m stupid for ya?” 

“Mm. Stupid for me, stupidly romantic, stupidly handsome...” Steve hums, giving Bucky a wobbly smile. 

“Can’t say I disagree with any of the above,” Bucky shrugs. 

“Hey, Buck?” Steve swallows, looking up at him. 

“What is it, Ace?”

“I’m really, really glad you fought for us.” 

Bucky’s eyes soften. He grabs Steve’s face firmly in both hands and presses a hard kiss to Steve’s surprised lips. Pulling back and pushing his nose to Steve’s, Bucky whispers fiercely, “I will _ always _fight for us, sweetheart. You got me for life.” 

“You got me for life, too,” Steve murmurs. “I know I gotta prove it to you, after...the stupidity I pulled. But I _will_, Buck. I promise.” 

Bucky kisses him again, softly. “I know you’re stickin’ around for good. But pancakes in bed every once and a while might be nice….” 

Steve giggles, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck. “You got it,” Steve promises. He’d do just about anything Bucky asked of him right now--his mind was on Cloud 9, soaring high with no hint of coming down to reality anytime soon. Bucky was _ home. _They were together.

“Should we just skip to the bed part, then?” Bucky arches a brow. “We can watch a movie. Take a nap.”

_The bed part. _Steve's heart skips unevenly, though he was pretty sure Bucky didn't mean it like _that. _Although...Bucky was a flirt, through and through, and something about that daring twinkle in his eyes seemed almost hungry.

“I’d like that,” Steve agrees carefully. “But right now, Buck, you’re a mess. And now you’ve gotten me all dirty, too.” 

Bucky scoffs in faux offence. “I didn’t have time to shower, I was working up the courage to come beg for your heart back after savin’ the whole city on _ Christmas _ Eve, Rogers!” Bucky defends, throwing his hands up in the air. “I figured you wouldn’t mind. Can’t a guy get some _ sympathy? _Jeez.” 

Steve’s nose wrinkles. “You _ smell _fine,” he says honestly. “But you’re tracking mud on the floor.” He points down to Bucky’s combat boots and the trail they made into the living room. Guilty, Bucky kicks them off and offers Steve an extra-sweet smile, even batting his lashes. 

Steve grins at him. “Cute,” He snorts--and it was. “But you still need a shower.”

Bucky peers down at him. There is something in his eyes that Steve doesn’t immediately recognize, but it makes him feel hot, like he needs to suddenly open a window and let some fresh air in. The air is suddenly still, but charged with something heavy and desperate. It makes Steve's heart pick up a bit in response. 

Bucky swallows, watching Steve through his lower lashes. “Yeah. Guess you’re right,котенок.” 

There is something unspoken hanging between them, a boundary they had teased but never crossed before, not really. Steve held his breath, waiting.

Bucky clears his throat. “Will you…” he tries again, looking at the ground and then back to Steve, his pupils wide. “D’you want to join me?” 

Steve thinks he must turn bright red, all the way up to the tips of his ears, but his voice doesn’t shake when he says, “Try and stop me.” He’s not sure where _ that _came from, but Bucky is grinning so it must have been alright.

Bucky gives him a dazzling answering smile, and Steve even leads the way to the bathroom, his heart racing as he goes. He had no idea what he was doing--his sexual experience was limited to say the least. He had never been fully intimate with someone, and especially not someone he loved. Not like this.

Once they reach the bathroom, Steve reaches over and starts the shower, putting the water to the scolding hot temperature he preferred, and then turned to face Bucky again, who was already undressing. 

“Wait,” Steve interrupts, voice soft. Bucky freezes immediately, watching him. He felt like he was being slowly undressed with the weight of that stare. “L-Let me do it?” 

Bucky smiles softly, but he nods, straightening up. “Sure, sweetheart, be my guest. But the buckles are a little tricky--”

Steve grunts softly, and manages to get one of the buckles undone from Bucky’s jacket. As Bucky watches with an amused expression, Steve struggles through three more. When a knife falls out of a hiding place, Bucky catches it, handle side up, with ease, much to Steve’s shock. 

His reflexes were impeccable, as they had been when Bucky was a ghost, catching Steve from falling off the stool. That moment felt like ages ago.

“Whoops,” Bucky snorts easily, putting it carefully down on the counter. “My bad. Forgot that one was in there. The water is gonna get cold, Stevie. Why don’t you head in, and I’ll finish getting undressed and make sure all my guns n’stuff have their safety on? Accidentally shootin’ you would really put a damper on the mood, I think.” 

It’s a little less confrontational--less intense--and Steve thinks Bucky knows it. He’s trying to make Steve as comfortable as he can. 

Bucky had asked him, once, about his dating history, and Steve had been honest. He had only ever had romantic encounters with two people in his life. He wasn’t exactly outgoing, he didn’t put himself out there by any means, and considering his looks--well. It wasn’t hard to understand why, at his age, Steve was a virgin.

He had lost faith in God when his mom passed away, but something instilled in him in his church-going days was that sex should be between two people who love each other. Steve had never felt that before, and didn’t want to give it up to someone for a one-night stand. 

This, though. This feels right. Him and Bucky--he never could have dreamed that he’d get something like this in his lifetime. An epic love. He didn't imagine it got any better than this.

“Okay,” Steve whispers, and tugs off his shirt, pants and underwear in a few quick movements, too shy to meet Bucky’s gaze as he does, half afraid of what he would or wouldn’t see written on Bucky’s face. 

As he dashes into the water, he can feel Bucky’s heavy gaze on his backside. It makes a nervous thrill run over him. Bucky had seen him naked before, of course, when he had soaked in the bath or just moved about his room at night. But then--Bucky had been a ghost, unable to touch Steve. 

By the time Bucky was back in his body and his hands were his own, a million other factors began tugging them apart.

Not anymore, though. They had all the time in the world, to let their hands wander, explore.

Now Bucky had a huge mass of body, had rough calloused fingers and large palms, had lips that could kiss and teeth that could bite. Everything was different. 

The hot water immediately soothes him, accompanied with the reassurance that Bucky was here, the weight of the dog tags around his neck, and the smell of his soaps and shampoos, Steve felt the most at ease he had in weeks. 

He takes advantage of the time without Bucky to clean himself up swiftly, making sure he’d be ready for wherever they decided to go from here, while also trying not to think about naked bodies sliding together, Bucky’s strong hands on him--

Steve was growing hard just thinking about. He tried to direct his thoughts elsewhere, to the peace of the moment. The hot water running over him, the sounds of Bucky’s getting undressed, the comfort that Bucky’s presence brought him. 

The turmoil, the fear, the heartbreak. It was _ over. _They could just...be. 

He hears the sound of weapons being set down on the bathroom counter, Bucky’s clothing dropping to the floor, and finally, Bucky clearing his throat. 

“I’m coming in,” He warns, and Steve shudders with the anticipation. 

The curtain pulls back a little bit, and Bucky steps inside the shower. Although Steve thought originally that getting two of them in there would be no problem, considering the decent size of the shower, in hindsight he should have known better. 

“Whoa,” He says, involuntarily, as Bucky’s huge bulk settles against Steve’s back, his chest pressed to Steve’s spine.

The heat radiating off of Bucky felt warmer than the steaming water, and suddenly all of Steve’s space is being invaded by _ Bucky. _He’s everywhere all at once, his thick thighs, his wide biceps, his chest that was so solid it could have been made of stone--Bucky was unavoidable in this small space, and Steve felt impossibly tiny, perhaps smaller than he ever had before. 

Their size difference felt glaringly obvious. 

Bucky’s arms slide around Steve’s front, hugging him from behind, his chin resting comfortably on top of Steve’s head despite the water running at them. Bucky lets out a slow, indulgent breath, settling into their position. 

“Is this okay?” Bucky murmurs, his voice right in Steve’s ear. Steve’s lips part slightly into a small _o _at the breath washing over him, the way Bucky’s arms felt around his torso. He didn’t think, given their history, that he’d ever be able to take this closeness for granted. “I just...I need to hold you for a bit.” 

“It’s okay,” Steve swallows. He doesn’t say--he tries to not even _ think _ \--about how he can feel Bucky’s hardness pressed against his lower back. Not quite his ass, since their height difference was so great, but he _ definitely _felt a whole lot of something pressing against his spine. He wiggles a little, testing the boundaries, and Bucky’s arms flex around him, a twitch of muscle. Interesting. 

After a few moments, Steve lets himself get used to the intimacy, the nakedness of it all, Bucky holding him as the water runs hot, turning their skin bright pink. 

He could have had this all along. All the weeks of misery, crying himself to sleep, watching every corner because he was afraid he’d be taken--all along, he could have had the safety of Bucky’s embrace, the smell of him, the rumble of his voice. 

If he had just _ gone _ to Bucky and been _ honest, _when he was scared and shaken up after that Hydra agent had cornered him--Bucky would have known exactly what to say. 

He would have gathered Steve up in his arms, tucked a blanket around him, hummed some old fashioned song in his ear and promised him that they’d be alright, because they had each other. They would have figured it out together, if only Steve hadn’t been so _ stupid. _

He’d hurt Bucky. Bucky, who was so _ pure, _ so..impossibly _ good, _despite all the evil that had been done to him. He’d walked away from a hurting man in his time of need, when he was transitioning into new life, new friends, a new apartment. Steve had been his security, and he’d left. He was a monster for that. He didn’t know how Bucky could take him easily into his arms and forgive him without a second thought, after the pain that Steve had caused them both. That betrayal had to have stung.

“Buck,” Steve says suddenly, interrupting the peace. His voice is thick with emotion. He didn't want to ruin the moment, but God--Bucky’s dog tags around his neck and his arms around Steve’s torso. _ He was a monster for ever walking away. _

“Yeah, doll? Am I hurting you?” Bucky's arms around him loosen quickly. 

“N-No, it's not that, I," Steve's voice breaks embarrassingly, "I am. So. Sorry,” Steve is barely able to choke out, before deep, wretched sobs overtake his body, his stomach caving with the force of them. “I w-walked a-away, and I told you I was g-gonna _ be _t-there--”

“Steve,” Bucky sounded alarmed, shocked at the sudden change in Steve’s attitude. He grabbed Steve gently but firmly by the shoulders and spun him around. If there was anything Bucky knew how to do, it was this; comfort Steve, hold him close. Let him cry without ever making him feel bad. “Hey, Ace. I know, alright? S’okay to be upset. But you don’t have to apologize to me again. This isn’t something I’m going to hold over your head,” He shushes soothingly. “I _ forgive you, _ darlin’. Alright? I forgive you_. _ Hey, sugar--we’re okay. моя любовь, don’t cry.”

Steve blinks up at him, blinking away the water and the tears to meet Bucky’s worried grey eyes. Bucky cups his face in his metal hand, and Steve presses into the touch, closing his eyes and trying to calm himself down. “I hurt you--a-after you fought _ so hard _for us,” Steve sniffles. He would never forgive himself for it--how could Bucky?

“Don’t cry,” Bucky pleads again. “I’m here now, ain’t I? And you’re here. And it’s Christmas Eve.” At Bucky’s words, Steve fingers the dog tags around his neck and manages a wobbly smile and a nod. “So we’re okay.”

“I’m g-gonna make you _ so much _c-coffee after this,” Steve sniffles, his casted arm coming to brush his wet hair back from his face. “And pie--whatever kind you want. And cookies, and pancakes and--”

Bucky chuckles, tapping his stomach which was rock solid. “You tryin’ to fatten me up? Stark _ just _got me fitted for that tac gear, I don’t think he’d take too kindly to having to make me another one.”

“Don’t care,” Steve hums, starting to calm his breathing down, feeling more grounded already. He looks back up at Bucky. “I love you.”

“I love you, sweetheart. See? So we’re alright,” Bucky hushes. “Whatever else happens, we’re alright.”

Steve leans his forehead against Bucky’s chest and doesn’t complain when Bucky reaches for the soap and lathers it up between his hands, and then starts slowly working it all over Steve’s skin, murmuring soothing little phrases. 

Steve was the one who had walked away, and here Bucky was comforting _ him. _

“My turn,” Steve interrupts, reaching for the soap himself. He sniffles away the last of his tears. He’d make it up to Bucky, through all the years they had left together. He’d have to. “May I?”

Bucky grins at him, and his playful smile is infectious even after Steve’s sour mood of guilt. “Be my guest,” Bucky mock-bows, and Steve doesn’t need any more invitation than that.

He takes his time getting rid of the blood and dirt first, being gentle with Bucky but scrubbing away until he was satisfied. “You should be more careful,” Steve frowns, his mind already racing through all the ways Bucky could have been hurt. “I thought the fight today was nothin’ serious, and yet here you are still covered in blood like some kind of--”

“The blood ain’t _ mine, _Ace,” Bucky says gently. “Do you see a cut anywhere?”

Steve frowns, searching Bucky’s firm torso and flesh arm, but sees nothing. He runs his wet fingers over the scar tissue where Bucky’s metal arm meets his shoulder, but no fresh blood comes away on his hands. The water running down Bucky’s body is turning less pink as the water hits him, washing away the mess, starting to reveal Bucky’s unscathed olive skin. “No. But I thought you just healed...”

“The blood ain’t mine.” Bucky repeats, and then leaves it at that. 

Steve takes a minute to appreciate the fact that he is dating a badass, and that said badass is smiling at him like he’s the centre of the universe. 

“I love you an impossible amount,” Steve whispers, his arms tightening around Bucky’s arms, holding on like something was threatening to pull them apart. “I know I keep sayin’ it, but. I just wanna make sure you know.”

Bucky’s face softens. “Feel free to keep sayin’ it, sweetheart. And, by the way, I love you impossibly more,” he whispers, giving Steve a gentle forehead kiss. 

Steve’s heart squeezes, and he smiles up at Bucky happily. “We’re gonna be okay.” 

“Yeah, we are. We’re gonna be okay, and squeaky clean.” Bucky leans over him to wet his hair in the stream of water, and pulls back to stare Steve seriously in the face, mouth puckered shut tightly, cheeks ballooned out like a puffer fish. 

Steve squints at him. “What--”

Bucky’s mouth opens, and he fountains the shower water right in Steve’s face, taking the blond by surprise. 

Before Steve can even register what is happening or deal with the fountain of water that assaulted him, Bucky is giggling--_ real _giggles, high pitched, entire-body laughter, his nose scrunched from the giddiness. 

“_Buck!” _ Steve shrieks, but Bucky’s laughter is the most contagious sound he’s ever heard, and soon enough Bucky has got Steve all wrapped up in his arms and they’re giggling together like little kids. “For a-a Russian _assassin _ you’re a fuckin’ _ goofball!” _ Steve accuses, shrieking and squirming when Bucky’s metal hand tickles lightly at his ribcage. “S-Stop! If I fall in the shower it’s _ so _on you!” He snorts around fits of laughter.

Bucky’s hair is wet and dripping in his eyes, making them seem even more blue. His teeth are sharp and white against his pink lips, stretched in a wide smile. He’s gorgeous.

“You know I wouldn’t let you fall,” Bucky accuses, tickling Steve some more. Steve wiggles against him, his laughter getting higher and higher pitched until it was entirely undignified, complete with snorts.

“You’re laugh is just so sexy, Ace,” Bucky admits, his voice suddenly low and full of want. He stops ticking Steve to suddenly crowd even closer, pushing Steve back against the cold tile wall of the shower with his bulk, towering over him. The playfulness of the moment earlier stops dead as Steve is surrounded by Bucky, peering down at him with hungry eyes. 

Steve watches a drop of water collect in Bucky’s clavicle, then run down his torso, over the bumps of hard muscle in his abdomen, and then lower--

Steve swallows, looking up guilty, but it’s too late--Bucky followed his eyes and their trail; Bucky knows _ exactly _ what Steve was looking at. And what he is _ definitely _ thinking about. 

“I’m not the sexy one,” Steve says weakly, looking up at Bucky through his lashes. “You have the audacity to come in here looking l-like a goddamn Greek god, and I’m just--”

Bucky kisses him. It’s an effective way to shut him up, no doubt, and Steve is more than here for it. He presses up onto the tips of his toes to reach Bucky’s lips better, and Bucky (ever the worrier) slips a steading hand around Steve’s hips to keep him from falling. 

Bucky’s kisses are deep but soft, pressing eagerly into Steve’s mouth but not biting, not angry like they had been in the hotel room. 

Steve had never been at this level of intimacy, and he was surprised how unashamed he felt, naked in the shower with a man who looked like he walked right off the cover of the Men’s Health magazine. 

He wasn’t ashamed at all. Bucky made him feel...beautiful. Wanted. 

It made Steve feel oddly powerful. 

“Buck,” Steve whispers against his lips, his hands searching hungrily over Bucky’s torso, just to map out as much skin as he could, feel the heat of Bucky under his hands. 

Bucky is doing the same thing, but his palm pauses over Steve’s heart, and he pulls away, smiling knowingly. “Your heart is beatin’ about a thousand miles a minute, sweetheart,” He murmurs. “You wanna get out and get dried off? Cool things down a bit?” 

“You worried ‘bout me having an asthma attack from kissing you?” Steve rolls his eyes, but he does reach around Bucky to turn the water off.

“My bad,” Bucky snorts. “If I’m _ taking your breath away.” _It was such a dad joke that Steve couldn’t help an exasperated smile. 

“You’re impossible,” Steve mutters, pulling back the shower curtain and handing Bucky a towel. “It honestly amazes me that there are people in this world who think you’re intimidating.” 

“I _ am _intimidating!” Bucky looks properly offended, and he twists his towel into a little whip and gives Steve a light whack on the ass, making him jump about a foot in the air and grab his own ass defensively. 

“Hey!” Steve pouts. 

“What?” Bucky waggles his eyebrows, unfolding his towel again to wrap it around his waist and secure it there, dangerously low on his hips. “From the videos you watched I thought you were into ass-slapping, no?” 

Steve’s face turns bright red. “Stop talking about the porn!” 

Bucky shakes his wet hair in Steve’s face like a dog and then uses his bulk to herd Steve, who was still trying to dry himself off, out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, grinning like a cat who got the cream the whole way.

“You--you need clothes,” Steve says stupidly, and heads into his closet. Without turning to look at Bucky, he throws a pair of Sam’s old track-pants and one of Sam’s old t-shirts that he wears to bed at Bucky. They’d be small, definitely, but still impossibly better than anything of Steve’s, which would probably cover Bucky about as much as a bandaid. 

He hears the rustle of fabric behind him that assures him Bucky is getting dressed, and Steve pulls on his own boxer briefs, using his towel to scrub at his hair to get the remaining dampness out. He hauls on joggers and a t- shirt, struggling a little to get his cast through the arm of the shirt, and his glasses. He turns to face Bucky again.

Bucky looks, as predicted, gorgeous in the borrowed, mismatched clothing, with his damp hair hanging around his face and his arms bulging out of the shirt, testing the fabric of the sleeves. “What are you starin’ at, kitten?” Bucky challenges, raising a brow at him.

“You,” Steve admits honestly, letting his eyes rake up and down, drinking Bucky in, because he _ could _now. “You’re beautiful.” 

Bucky blinks at that, like that was the last thing he’d expected Steve to say. Steve made a mental note to compliment Bucky more often; he liked that startled, pleased look on Bucky’s face.

Bucky was content to sit patiently on the edge of Steve’s bed as he flitted around the room, watching him move about the space, trace the line of Steve’s body with his eyes and let it settle in, _ really _ settle in, that this was his to keep. Steve was _ his. _

“Now who’s the one staring?” Steve mutters under his breath, popping a few pills. His body must be aching today, in the cold and damp weather, but he hadn’t mentioned it--Bucky found that Steve never did. He suffered chronic pain everyday, but never wasted a good breath on complaining about it. He was strong, and stubborn as a mule--that, Bucky knew for sure.

“Just lookin’ at my gorgeous boyfriend,” Bucky murmured, giving Steve a warm smile. Steve, who must by now know how highly Bucky thinks of him, blushes and looks away, like he’s still shocked at Bucky’s compliments. “Best christmas gift ever.”

“Actually,” Steve cleared his throat, finally interrupting the silence. “I really do have somethin’ for you.” 

Bucky frowns. He had come to give Steve the dog tags, to beg Steve to stop being an idiot and to take him back, but he hadn’t expected that Steve would have anything for him. They were broken up, after all, and he knew that Steve hadn’t really been planning on celebrating Christmas. 

“You shouldn’t have, Ace,” Bucky says with a deep frown, but Steve cuts him off. 

“It’s nothing big,” Steve mumbled. “I did it before I..was an asshole. Before I left.” He cleared his throat. “I just figured, that we’d hang up in here somewhere, once we moved in together after the whole Avengers mess. Y’know? Something to remind us to,” He takes a steadying breath, the tips of his ears pink. “To never take each other for granted.”

Bucky gives him a dopey smile. “I love it already. Now gimme.” He makes grabby hands. 

Steve gives him a fond eye roll and reaches into his closet, pulling out a canvas that was roughly the size of Steve’s torso. “Like I said,” Steve murmurs, looking down at the ground and not meeting Bucky’s eyes. “It’s just somethin small, but--”

Before Steve can say anything else degrading Bucky’s gift, Bucky stands up and snatches it right out of Steve’s hands, and then gasps when he sees the painting in its full glory. 

It was a full-colour painting of the sketch that Steve had done so many months ago, of him and Bucky dancing in his bedroom. Although when it happened, they hadn’t been able to touch, just hovering close to each other, Steve had sketched out the night as if they were embracing the whole while, curled around each other like two doves. 

The sketch had been one of the things that triggered Bucky’s memories when he visited Steve’s apartment after waking back up as the Winter Soldier. That night, hovering so close to Steve, Billie Holiday crooning out from Steve’s phone, their faces illuminated by the glow of the moon--Steve captured it so perfectly on the canvas. 

In the painting, Bucky’s face was turned down towards Steve, his lips parted, something curious in his eyes that Steve somehow managed to translate into the art. Steve’s own face was turned up towards Bucky’s, his eyes wide and full of wonder. 

This, Bucky knew, was the moment that they realized they felt more for each other. 

This was the _ almost _kiss. The hesitation, the realization. The shattering of both their hearts when they realized they both wanted something they thought they’d never be able to have. 

“Steve,” Bucky says, feeling breathless. His eyes are suddenly damp without his consent. They had come so far, he and his Stevie. They’d seen each other through laughter, through tears, fear and life-threatening danger. They had yearned for the arms of the other deep into the night and prayed for another sunrise just to spend it together. “It’s...it’s perfect.”

Steve swallows, meeting Bucky’s eyes. “You like it?” He confirms, scratching his neck nervously. “I just--this is the moment, y’know?” He clears his throat, squinting, obviously trying to word it better. He pushes his glass up higher on his nose and Bucky’s heart aches at the cuteness of the small habit. “This is the moment I realized that I couldn’t deny what I felt any longer. I was so gone for you Buck, I didn’t even know what to do with myself.” 

“Me too,” Bucky smiles, rubbing his thumb carefully along the edge of the painting. It was so detailed, it must have taken Steve days. “The minute you walked into the apartment, sweetheart, there was somethin’ about you. And then once we got to talkin’--”

“It was only a matter of time,” Steve murmurs, walking closer. Bucky sets the painting down on the night table carefully, and cups Steve’s face in both of his hands. 

“Exactly,” Bucky agrees, blinking as a tear escapes his eye and runs down his cheek. Bucky had never felt so lucky to be somewhere, to have someone, in his whole life. “It was inevitable.” 

Something like dry humor flashes across Steve’s features. He leans his head into Bucky’s palm. “Y’know,” he murmurs. “I used to think that that was an excuse--a reason that you would leave me later. That it was inevitable for us to end up together, that I was the only option you had, ‘cause of the circumstances. But now...I realize that it’s inevitable because we just _ work, _ Buck. It’s inevitable because we were made for each other. It-- _ we-- _had to happen.” 

“Made for each other,” Bucky echos, pressing their bodies together. “I like the sound of that.” 

“And now we have forever,” Steve breathes. “Isn’t that…” He laughs with exhilaration. “Amazing?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart. Forever with you sounds like one hell of a good plan.” 

Steve gives him a soft smile, and chases after Bucky’s lips, pressing his entire body against Bucky’s and trusting the larger man to take his weight. Bucky does, and as Steve nibbles down carefully on Bucky’s bottom lip, Bucky groans and scoops Steve up into his arms easily. Steve was light as a feather, really, and it was _ much _easier to kiss him like Bucky wanted to when he could raise their lips to be at the same level. 

“Bucky,” Steve pants against his lips. Bucky pulls back to let Steve breathe, hearing the slight wheeze under his words, nibbling at his earlobe and neck. “T-that feels good--”

That admission makes Bucky curse under his breath. It sounded so much sweeter and so much _ dirtier _ than Steve probably intended it, but with his heaving chest and wide eyes, it was _ sinful. _

“Want to make you feel good, forever,” Bucky hums. He walks with Steve in his arms until the backs of his knees hit Steve’s bed. He sits down hard, with Steve sprawling his legs around Bucky’s hips, settling comfortably in Bucky’s lap.

Bucky kisses back as good as he gets, his hands busy sneaking their way under Steve’s shirt to get at the bare skin of Steve’s jutting hip bones. “Stevie,” Bucky breathes out hard. “God, you’re perfect,” 

Steve whimpers a little at that, unable to help himself against the press of Bucky’s hands, both metal and flesh, against his hip bones. They grip hard, maybe even hard enough to bruise, as Bucky uses the leverage to grind Steve down hard against his own erection. 

“Oh!” Steve gasps, shocked by the sudden white-hot pleasure that shoots its way up through his belly at the thrust. 

“Sorry,” Bucky hisses, taking his hands off like he’d been burned. “I--I got too--”

“No,” Steve reassures him, guiding Bucky’s hands back to their grip. He licks his lips. “I want you, Buck. Please?”

Bucky pulls back enough to meet Steve’s gaze. His pupils are blown with desire, lips plump and shiny with spit. He looked so wrecked already, and they had barely touched. 

Steve wondered if he looked equally as ruined--he definitely felt it. 

“Are you sure?” Bucky swallows, his grip flexing and releasing. Wanting. A tiger waiting to pounce. “We can take things slow, Stevie, there ain’t no rush. Like you said, we have forever.”

“I know,” Steve nods, pressing another kiss to Bucky’s lips. “But I don’t want to wait any longer. I’ve been dyin’ for this, Buck, for so long. To have your hands on me, t-to have you..._ inside _me--”

“Oh, Christ,” Bucky groans, and Steve assumes that’s all it takes, because in the seconds following, Bucky manages to get both Steve and himself out of their shirts, so their bare chests pressed together, their wild heartbeats syncing. It happens so fast Steve loses track of who moved when, but when their skin touches, it doesn’t matter.

“Want you so bad,” Steve whispers, as Bucky readjusts his grip and flips them, so that Steve is below him, Bucky resting on his elbows to keep his weight off of Steve’s chest. 

Everything he did, he did with incredible grace and agility. Steve was laid out, exposed for Bucky’s hands and gaze. He felt completely at Bucky’s mercy, in the best way possible. 

Bucky’s hair falls in his face from this angle, and Steve gathers it up in one hand and tugs, lightly, as he presses their mouths together. 

Bucky groans into his mouth. “Stevie,” He pants. His free hand wanders down Steve’s naked torso, and when his metal thumb flicks over Steve’s nipple, Steve full out moans, a sound that escapes his lips before he even has the chance to stop it. The cold metal, the pinch of it--it was driving him crazy. 

“Did I hurt you?” Bucky pulls his hand back immediately, freezing in place, eyes wide. 

“N-_ No,” _Steve reassures, arching his back, wanting to earn back that touch again. His cock was throbbing in his briefs, begging to be touched. He just wanted Bucky all over him. “Touch me again, Buck, just like that.” 

Bucky obliges him, first with his thumb again, watching Steve’s reaction, and then moving lower, planting kisses on Steve’s chest as he goes, taking a nipple into his mouth and playing with the other one. 

Steve arches his back up hungrily to the touch, his cock heavy between his legs.

Bucky’s mouth moves lower and lower, and eventually, he bites playfully at the waistband of Steve’s joggers. From his place by Steve’s hips Bucky meets Steve’s heavy gaze. 

“May I?” Bucky asks sweetly, one of his large hands gripping Steve’s slender thighs. 

Steve groans at the image, throwing his head back hard against the bed. “God, Buck, _ please,” _ he murmurs, his hands clawed in the bedsheets. “Please?” His voice was getting higher, needier, and it was a side of himself that Steve didn’t recognize. He had never been this full of pure _ need _before. He’d been aroused, sure--he was only human. 

But right now, thinking about Bucky’s hands on him and Bucky’s cock inside of him was all that Steve could fathom, like nothing else existed outside of this.

“You don’t gotta beg, baby,” Bucky reassures him softly, pressing a kiss to Steve’s stomach as he slides down Steve’s joggers and underwear in one swift tug. “I’ll give you everythin’...I always told you that once I could get my hands on you I wouldn’t make you beg,” Bucky looks up to give Steve a dangerous wink, making Steve’s mouth practically water. “At least not _ this _time.”

“Christ,” Steve says absently, screwing his eyes shut. “Jesus--” 

“Mm. I’ve been called worse.” Bucky murmurs, unbothered. As Steve’s briefs come off, he can feel Bucky’s hot breath close to his cock, ghosting over it, the just _ barely there _touch as he inches closer. “Such a pretty little cock, Stevie. Look, baby,” Bucky grips him with his flesh hand and swipes his thumb over the slit at the head of his cock, gathering the precum that had accumulated there, making the muscles in Steve’s belly jump at the touch. “You’re wet for me.”

“Want you,” Was all Steve could gasp out. He opens his eyes long enough to see Bucky pop the thumb that had collected Steve’s precum into his mouth, savouring the taste, and then is so afraid he’ll lose it right there that he lets out a little whimper and lets his head fall back again, afraid that if he watched the show too closely he would lose control. 

As it was, it was taking everything in him to keep from burying himself deep in the wet heat of Bucky’s mouth and succumbing. His hands are fists, gripping the sheets, as Bucky strokes up slowly up and down with his hand. 

Steve can feel Bucky’s eyes on him, watching Steve’s reaction.

When Bucky takes him into his mouth, it’s slow at first, like Bucky was savouring the moment, appreciating the weight and taste of Steve on his tongue. 

Steve’s hips bucked up wildly at the first swallow, and as Bucky took him deeper he couldn’t stay still, jerking around involuntarily with the pleasure, his hips rising and lowering off the bed like a thing possessed.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Bucky takes a breath to say. His metal arm brackets his hips down, and, because Steve is _ so fucking gone for Bucky Barnes, _that sight, Bucky holding him down with the metal arm, Bucky swallowing him up to the base while meeting his wide-eyed stare...it only made it impossibly hotter. 

Bucky bobbed sloppily on Steve’s cock, drool running down between Steve’s balls and eventually further, making him shiver. His hole clenched and unclenched around nothing as his legs twitched, eager for more. 

“B-Buck,” Steve chokes out. “Please.” 

Bucky pops off with an obscene sound, his metal arm now rubbing soothing circles on Steve’s stomach. “What is it, baby?”

Steve tries to think of the words for what feels like forever but must only be a few minutes, but fails under Bucky’s hungry glare. Instead, Steve reaches to his bedside table, producing a bottle of lube. He shoves it at Bucky and then rolls over onto his stomach, arching his back and practically shoving his ass in the air for Bucky to see. 

His cock was aching red and dripping--he needed Bucky _ inside _him, now.

Bucky lets out a slow, hungry chuckle, his hands immediately coming to grip both of Steve’s cheeks. “You gettin’ impatient, huh, sweetheart?” 

“Yes,” Steve grinds his teeth, his face shoved in the mattress. “C’mon, Buck. _ Please. _”

Bucky kisses Steve’s spine all the way down to his tailbone, and then his wandering mouth dips further. When Steve feels a hot tongue swipe over his asshole, he lets out a little whimper and scrambles away from the touch. 

“B-Buck!” He gasps, mouth gaping.

“You don’t like it?” Bucky questions, his arm already sneaking around Steve’s waist to tug him back. 

“It’s not _ that, _I just…” Steve blinks, stunned. When Bucky does it again, he lets out an audible gasp, his cock jumping in time with the press of tongue. 

“Tell me you don’t like it, and I’ll stop. But if you’re hestitatin’ ‘cause you’re shy, you got no reason to be. You’re perfect.”

“You don’t h-have to,” Steve swallows, his toes curling and uncurling. 

“Stevie,” Bucky groans. “I’ve been wanting to get my mouth on you _ forever. _ You’ll be doin’ _ me _a favor.”

Steve covers his mouth with the hand that wasn’t supporting him so he didn’t let out a moan just at the words, hearing how Bucky wanted him, how Bucky _ craved _him in the same ways Steve craved Bucky. “Okay...” He agrees shyly. 

Bucky doesn’t waste any time. He presses another tender kiss, right to Steve’s tight hole, and then another. His tongue pushes further and further around the ring of muscle, forcing Steve to buck his hips with want. 

“Okay?” Bucky checks. 

“Mhmm,” Is all Steve can get out without making a fool of himself. Words feel far away. 

When Bucky’s free hand starts jerking him off in unison with the thrusts of his tongue, Steve bites down hard into his own hand to keep from yelling out, his hips shoving back into Bucky’s face eagerly, wanting more. 

“No,” Bucky says, voice husky. “Let me hear you, Stevie. Ain’t no one in here but us, baby, you can be as loud as you want.”

Steve swallows, but removes his hand from his mouth just in time for Bucky to lick a long line from the underside of Steve’s cock to his hole, making the blond let out an obscene moan. 

“Tell me how it feels,” Bucky prompts, repeating the move again, impossibly slower this time. “Tell me.” 

Steve could go on for hours about how much he likes the commanding tone in Bucky’s voice, how much it made him want to submit to anything Bucky asked of him. But his head was a cloud of pleasure and desire, and he didn’t feel capable of eloquently being able to describe anything. 

“Amazing,” He manages to gasp out, as Bucky sinks his teeth into one of Steve’s cheeks, nibbling at the meaty flesh there. “_Buck,” _He gasps, at the little sting of pain that came along with the bite. “Y-you’re awfully dirty for someone who grew up in a s-sexually conservative e-era.” 

Bucky chuckles, dark and dangerous, and buries his face against Steve’s hole again, licking and sucking like his life depended on it. “Don’t believe everythin’ you read, Stevie,” he says in a low voice. “Я хочу трахнуть тебя,” Bucky whispers, “пока ты кричишь мое имя.”

Steve had no idea what Bucky had said, but it didn’t matter in the least. Bucky growling Russian between kissing and sucking on Steve’s hole was enough to make Steve want to scream. “Enough teasin’,” Steve pants, lifting his ass higher, as if that will help speed things along. “C’mon, Buck, you know what I want.” 

He can’t see Bucky’s face from his vantage point, but he just _ knows _that Bucky is arching his brow at the challenge. “Do I?” Bucky murmurs, confirming Steve’s suspicions. He was going to make Steve say it. 

Well, fine. Steve didn’t care _ what _ he had to do, as long as he could get Bucky inside of him _ right fucking now. _ “Fuck me,” Steve says, his voice not shaking. “C’mon, Buck. You _ said _you wouldn’t make me beg.” 

Bucky hums, a deep, pleased rumble in his chest. “Those words sound real nice comin’ out of your mouth, Ace,” Bucky compliments. “But you know you ain’t ready, not yet.” 

“I _ am--” _

“No. I’m not gonna hurt you,” Bucky’s voice takes on a more serious edge, as he reaches for the lube. Steve hears him squirt what sounds like a generous amount onto his palm. “This is your first time, Stevie. S’gotta be sweet. I want you to feel good.” 

“I trust you,” Steve breathes, looking over his shoulder at Bucky with wide eyes. “I trust you, Buck, you won’t hurt me.”

“I’d never hurt you,” Bucky agrees softly, pressing another kiss to the dimples at the bottom of Steve’s spine. “You gotta talk to me, alright? You gotta let me know when it’s too much.” 

“I’ve fingered myself before,” Steve murmurs, a little embarrassed. He didn’t want Bucky to think that he was _ completely _inexperienced. “I know what I can take.” 

“One of my fingers s’like two of yours,” Bucky says lightly, pressing another kiss so Steve doesn’t take it the wrong way. He doesn’t--he’s seen their hands side by side before. Everything about Bucky dwarfs Steve in comparison, and Bucky was right. 

This was something new; Steve had never been touched by someone else like this before. 

“I’ll let you know if it’s too much, just c’mon, Buck, I’m dyin’ for it,” Steve rushes him, wiggling his hips a little. 

Bucky snorts, his metal hand rubbing soothing circles on Steve’s ass, as his flesh finger circles around Steve’s hole, getting it wet with the lube.

“Okay, just relax,” Bucky urges, as he slowly--so _ slow _\--slips just the tiniest bit of his finger in. 

“Mm,” Steve breathes, relaxing into the sensation. It wasn’t enough, not with how wound up Steve is. He wants pleasure to the point of pain. 

Without giving Bucky proper warning, he pushes back onto Bucky’s finger, taking in more and more at his own pace, until he reaches knuckle. 

“Jesusfucking_ christ _,” Bucky says in one hot breath. His metal hand was gripping Steve’s ass tightly, not quite hurting but Steve was definitely aware that Bucky was holding incredibly still, his sniper training obviously playing a role. “Жадный, aren’t you?”

“More?” Steve moans, his eyes fluttering as Bucky’s hand twitches inside him, hitting something delicious. “I can take it, Buck.”

“I can see that,” Bucky rasps, sounding absolutely wrecked. “You take it so fucking pretty for me, sweetheart. Jesus, look at you, all fuckin’ spread out for me, that perfect little ass up so high, Иисус Христос--”

“_Bucky,” _ Steve groans, his toes curling up tight with the need for _ more _. “C’mon, I ain’t getting any younger.”

Bucky gives his ass a light smack for that, and Steve’s cock jumps at the sensation, the sting of flesh. Steve lets out a delighted gasp. 

Bucky hesitates, catching Steve’s reaction. “You...like that?” It’s not dirty talk, it’s a quiet, interested tone. Bucky was testing the waters. 

“I guess so,” Steve licks his lips. “No one’s ever done it before but...yeah. I liked it, Buck. Again?” 

Bucky smoothes a gentle hand over the hurt, and slowly begins to push another finger in. As Steve breathes through clenched teeth, willing his body to open up and take it, Bucky gives Steve another gentle smack, barely enough to make a sound. 

Steve knew that Bucky was being careful with him--although Steve was hardly thinking about it, he knew Bucky’s mind was probably half in the moment, half somewhere else, in a world where he had to be careful of every movement, because with one miscalculation, he could hurt Steve without even meaning to. 

“Feels good,” Steve reassures him in a spent voice. “You’re so good to me, Buck, so gentle--”

Bucky curls his fingers a little from their position buried deep inside Steve, and Steve gives a delighted little shiver, a gasp of pleasure escaping his lips. 

“You’re doing so well,” Bucky hums, pressing a kiss to the back of Steve’s thigh. “Gonna make you feel so good, возлюбленная.”

“I’m ready,” Steve pants, his hole clenching and unclenching around Bucky’s fingers. Despite the slight burn, it still wasn’t enough--Steve wanted to feel Bucky inside him until he felt like he was going to explode. “C’mon, Buck, I can take it.” 

Bucky hesitates, his fingers pausing in their motion. 

“_Bucky,” _Steve growls, his hands clenching the sheets. “C’mon. Now.” 

“So needy,” Bucky murmurs, but his voice is teasing. His hands run up and down Steve’s spine, massaging a little as he goes, before they grip hard at Steve’s hips and flip him over smoothly, so that before Steve could really register what was happening, he was flat on his back, staring up at Bucky with wide eyes. 

“Wanna look at you,” Bucky explains, almost sounding a little shy. “That alright?” 

Steve swallows. Begging Bucky for it while Bucky was somewhere behind him, unable to see Steve’s blush or read the need on his face was different. Now, he was exposed, and under the intense stare of Bucky’s pale eyes, Steve felt laid open. 

“Yeah,” He breathes, pulling Bucky down for a kiss, nipping at his lip as Bucky pulls back again. “I want you, Buck.” 

“I want you too, sweetheart,” Bucky promises. “You--you gotta tell me if it hurts, okay? If I’m doin’ anything that doesn’t feel good, you gotta tell me.”

“Mmm,” Steve nods, bending his knees up to his chest to urge Bucky along. He didn't think he was capable of feeling pain in this moment--just excitement, and pleasure. He felt completely safe and taken care of in a way he didn't know was possible. “Sure thing, Sarge.” 

Bucky hums at that, taking a moment to drink Steve in. “If you could fuckin’ see yourself right now--” his eyes rake over Steve, and he wets his lips. “Legs spread so pretty for me, hmm? ”

“Yeah,” Steve swallows, his hole feeling empty and aching to be filled after Bucky takes his hand away. “Please, Buck? You said you wouldn’t make me beg, you _ said--” _

“Alright, baby, I know. Just hold on--” Bucky grabs even more lube and squirts a generous amount onto his palm, and then starts working it on himself. 

Steve can’t look away, watching Bucky’s right hand gripping himself, moving up and then back down again, his cock red and aching with the need for release. The length of it, the girth...it made Steve nervous...but he knew that Bucky would be gentle, that he'd make Steve feel good. 

Steve wiggles his hips in excitement, his heart racing. “C’mon,” He urges impatiently. “Buck, please--”

Bucky presses the head of his cock against the tight pucker of Steve’s hole. “Shh,” Bucky murmurs, “I got you, kitten, not gonna make you wait any longer.” 

Steve’s eyes lock with Bucky’s as Bucky’s flesh hand guides himself to push into Steve. 

Steve reaches for Bucky’s metal arm, and their fingers interlock, grounding Steve as the blond tries not to brace himself. He breathes deeply in and out, his legs already beginning to tremble slightly.

“That’s it,” Bucky soothes, “Just relax, and--and you gotta tell me--”

“Pretty hard for it to hurt when you haven’t even--_ oh-- _ ” Steve cuts off mid-sentence as the head of Bucky’s cock finally enters him. “F- _ Fuck,” _Steve chokes out. 

Bucky was huge--Steve knew that, of course, he had seen Bucky’s cock before--but having it inside him was completely different. He could feel it throbbing inside him, stretching him out. 

It felt like he was being split in half--but he _ liked _ it. He fucking _ needed _it.

“Jesus,” Bucky pants, his metal fingers flexing and then relaxing in their grip on Steve’s un-bandaged hand. “You’re so goddamn _ tight, _baby--”

Steve breathes in and out, adjusting to the sensation. I was deeply personal, Bucky’s eyes staring into his with wonder and passion, the love so evident in his face that Steve felt completely safe, completely cared for. 

“More?” Steve asks softly, rolling his hips a little, testing out the feeling. As he does, they both groan.

Bucky slides into Steve slowly, so slowly it felt like he was barely moving at all, filling Steve up until Steve forgets how to breathe. 

“Stevie,” Bucky says warningly, though his voice sounded just as wrecked as Steve felt. “A-Are you--”

“I’m okay,” Steve gasps, his fingers digging in hard to Bucky’s metal hand and arm. “C’mon, Buck, you--you’re almost there.” 

Bucky swallows, his hair falling in his face as he leans over Steve. His own chest was heaving just as much as Steve’s, but he had a feeling it wasn’t from the exertion, but rather from holding back. Bucky was being so careful with him. 

With a gentle press of lips to Steve’s forehead, Bucky pushes in until their bodies are completely flush, Bucky buried in Steve as deep as he could go. 

Steve lets out an obscene moan and then claps a hand over his mouth, embarrassed. 

Bucky’s fingers pry his hands away. “You sound so fuckin’ pretty,” Bucky purrs, nosing at Steve’s neck, nibbling his ear lobe. Bucky’s hot, panting breath in his ear made a shudder run through Steve’s body. “Lemme hear you, kitten, стонать за меня.” 

Bucky’s honey-sweet voice, the growl of it low in Steve’s ear, was enough to make Steve’s cock jump against his belly. “You--” Steve exhaled, arching his back a little and then letting out a small whimper as he feels precum on his cock dribble out from the head and onto his belly. “Jesus, Buck. You’re _ huge.” _

Bucky goes tense. “Does it hurt?” he starts to pull back, out of Steve, but Steve locks his legs around Bucky’s hips and with a sharp jerk, he brings their bodies back together, Bucky thrusting back into him. 

“_Mm, _ Buck. Feels good_,_” Steve groans, his legs locked in their position. He screws his eyes shut. “Move. You gotta--please, move?” 

“So good for me,” Bucky praises, his voice raspy. When he opens his eyes again, Bucky’s gaze is fixed on Steve’s face, his pupils blown wide. It made Steve feel powerful to see someone staring back at him with such desire written all over their features; especially someone he loved. Bucky wanted him just as much as Steve wanted Bucky. “Я позабочусь о тебе, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

Slowly, Bucky pulls back, and then thrusts into Steve once more, the muscles in his stomach clenching.

“F-_Fuck_,” Steve whimpers. The burning had become pleasure, a fire low in his belly. “Feels good, Buck, don’t stop,” He manages to breathe out, his toes curling. “D-don’t stop.”

“So tight, Stevie,” Bucky groans, thrusting into him again, a little sharper this time, the bed groaning with the movement. “I can feel you stretched around me, takin’ it so good for me--”

Half of Steve wants to slap a hand over Bucky’s mouth for the downright _ ungodly _things he was saying, but mostly he wanted Bucky to never stop, to keep saying those dirty little nothings until he was blue in the face. 

“Faster,” Steve’s hand wraps around his own cock at the same time Bucky snaps his hips hard into Steve, rougher than he ever had so far, Steve could tell he was losing control a little bit but that only served to drive him _ more _ wild--that he could make Bucky come undone like that. _ That _ was what Steve wanted--he arches into it, eyes rolling back. “ _ Bucky,” _he moans. “Ohmygod. Please, please--”

“Jesus, Steve--” Bucky pants with a rough voice, “Gonna give it to you just how you need it, gonna fill you up--” 

“Fuck me, Bucky c’mon, I can take it, I’ll be so good for you I promise,” Steve whimpers. Something in Bucky’s eyes lights up as Steve starts babbling, and Steve assumes it’s because Bucky quite likes it when Steve talks dirty. Steve keeps going, it’s too much effort to filter himself right now. He can’t make himself shut up. “You make me feel so good, Buck--fuck me harder, I need it, I _ need _ it--”

Bucky growls at him, something feral and deep in his chest, and his grip tightens on Steve’s hand, his flesh hand bringing Steve’s ankle to rest on Bucky’s own shoulder, as he thrusts mercilessly into him. 

“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,” Bucky groans, his pace picking up even more. Steve wasn’t sure how he could keep a rythem at that speed, but he chalked it up to being Enhanced and decided to just be grateful, because it felt fucking _ amazing. _ “ты _ моя _.”

Steve’s hand pumps his cock to the pace of Bucky’s thrusts, his grip tight and unrelenting--he was _ so _ close, the fire building in his stomach, his muscles coiled--

“Buck,” He warns, his voice high and desperate as he chases his release. “_Yes. _ Oh, _ fuck, _I’m--I’m gonna--”

“Come for me,” Bucky hisses, keeping that same unrelenting pace. His metal arm holds Steve’s free hand tightly. “Come on, sweetheart, let go, s’gonna feel so good--”

“_Buck!” _Steve gasps, his eyes screwing shut. He arches his back and spills all over his chest and stomach, his cock twitching and throbbing with the release, while Bucky keeps thrusting hard.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” Bucky rumbles. His hand detaches from Steve’s and snakes under Steve’s right knee, forcing Steve’s knees into his chest so he could get even deeper. 

“Ohmygod,” Steve whimpers, rolling his hips to meet Bucky’s pace, panting hard. He was flushed from head to naval, his cock refusing to get soft even after his release. “Buck--” 

“M’close,” Bucky groans, his hair spilling in his face, muscles tense. “Fuck, Stevie, you’re so _ tight. _ You feel so fuckin’ perfect, stretched around me-- _ ” _

“Come inside me,” Steve finds himself saying, in a rush of breath. As he says the words out loud he realizes how much he wants it, to feel Bucky letting go deep inside him, filling him up. “Please, Bucky, c’mon--”

“Jesus, Stevie,” Bucky hisses, as he thrusts _ hard _ into Steve, once, twice, three times, then buries himself inside the blond and exhales loudly, his hands leaving a bruising grip on Steve’s thighs as he comes hard, his eyes fluttering back and his mouth parted in a surprised _ O. _Steve lets out a little moan as he feels Bucky’s cock throbbing inside him, his hips jerking involuntarily against Steve’s, the metal arm whirring, plates readjusting with the clench of Bucky’s muscles.

“Christ,” Bucky pants, running a hand back through his damp hair to get it out of his face. His lips are bitten pink and a bit swollen. Steve has never seen a more mouthwatering sight. “Jesus.”

They breathe hard together for a few more moments, before Bucky opens his eyes again, and slowly, so slowly, guides Steve’s legs down. “Buck,” Steve mumbles, feeling the soreness through his body and the sudden emptiness as Bucky pulls out of Steve. 

“I’m right here, котенок,” Bucky assures him with a fond smile. Steve looked perfect--so unfairly perfect--lying there, stretched out on the bed and shamelessly naked. His limbs were jello at his sides, his chest flushed bright red, a dopey smile on his face. “You still with me, Ace?” Bucky checks in, his flesh hand cupping Steve’s face gently. 

“Mm,” Steve mumbles, his eyes drooping to a lazy half-close at the touch. His legs are trembling slightly. “Think so. C’mere.” 

Bucky couldn’t say no to Steve on a regular day--but now, with him happily fucked into oblivion, all loose-limbed and smiley? Yeah, no chance in hell was Bucky going to deny Steve _ anything. _

For someone who had been shamelessly begging to be fucked harder not fifteen minutes ago, Steve looked impossibly adorable right then, his chest and cheeks flushed the same shade of cherry red. It made his eyes look even more blue.

Bucky climbs down carefully onto the bed beside the blonde and lays down on his back, opening his arms. “You c’mere,” he counters, arching his eyebrow. “Wanna hold you.”

Steve’s smile widens and he crawls up the bed enthusiastically to climb right on top of Bucky and stretch out on him as if he were the bed himself, their stomachs pressed together, Steve’s head tucked into Bucky’s neck, breathing him in. Bucky thinks he’ll always be amazed at the way Steve fit so perfectly into the contours of Bucky’s body, like they were two puzzle pieces that were always meant to find each other. Steve’s bulky cast was a little uncomfortable, but Bucky wasn’t about to mention that.

Bucky’s flesh arm wraps around Steve’s torso to stabilize him there, and his metal fingers trace invisible patterns up and down Steve’s spine as they both slow their breathing, coming down from the high.

After a few moments of silence, Bucky starts to worry. Why wasn’t Steve saying anything? “Stevie?” He checks in. “You okay? I didn’t...I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

He hears Steve’s breath pause at the question. He wishes he could see Steve’s face. “‘Course not, Buck. You were so careful with me,” Steve hums, nuzzling further into Bucky’s neck. “That was...amazing.” Steve sighs happily. Bucky is glad he can feel Steve’s smile against his skin. Steve hesitates before asking, “Is it always like that?” 

Bucky frowns. “Sex, you mean?” 

“...Yeah. Is it always…?”

“Mind blowing?” Bucky clarifies, trying not to chuckle. He didn’t want to hurt Steve’s feelings. “I mean, speaking for myself, obviously. I dunno if you enjoyed yourself or not...” 

“Jerk,” Steve playfully flicks Bucky’s ear. “Yes. Mind blowing.” 

“Ah, my ego is soothed for yet another day.” 

“Answer the question, _ jerk,” _Steve pouts. 

Bucky sighs. “In my experience, no. It ain’t always like that--in fact, for me, it’s _ never _been like that,” He says softly. “I think...I think when you love someone, you wanna make them feel good.” 

Steve hums thoughtfully, pressing the sweetest of kisses to Bucky’s collarbone. “You’re just sayin’ that so I don’t get jealous.” 

“Jealous?” Bucky laughs. “Anyone who got freaky with me would be dead, or over 90 years old now. ‘Sides, even in their prime, I ain’t never met someone who lights me up like you, кукла.” 

“So cheesy,” Steve mumbles, but Bucky can feel the heat of Steve’s blush from where his cheek was pressed against his shoulder. He would never get tired of feeling that, or seeing Steve’s face get pink and flustered from the slightest looks from Bucky. “I like when you speak Russain. S’hot.” 

“Is that so?” Bucky arches a brow. “Even though you don’t know what I’m saying?” 

“I know a few things,” Steve argues. “Pet names. Kitten, sweetheart. I recognize those.” 

“I’ll teach you more,” Bucky promises, kissing the top of Steve’s blond head. “You can be мой маленький ученик.” 

“I hope that was sexy,” Steve yawns. “Whatever it was.” 

“I called you my little student,” Bucky snorts. “Could be sexy. I can _ definitely _picture you with a little schoolgirl skirt, some thigh-highs…” he trails off, his body already responding to that visual. 

“Down, boy,” Steve giggles. “I’m not opposed to that idea. I think I’d like gettin’ dressed up for you.” 

“Yeah?” Bucky smiles. “You’re good to me, sweetheart.”

“And you’re a little cheeseball for me,” Steve replies sweetly, blowing a playful raspberry against Bucky’s neck, making Bucky chuckle and flick Steve’s ear playfully.

“Only for you,” Bucky agrees, rubbing slow circles with his metal arm over Steve’s back. “Everyone else can deal with the gun-toting Russain assassin. I’ve got an image to uphold, Ace. Can’t have my enemies thinkin’ I’ve gone soft.” He’s teasing, mostly. In the back of his mind will always be a constant worry for Steve, about the danger Bucky may one day put him in because of his vocation. 

He won’t let those thoughts poison the peace of the moment. 

“My little softie,” Steve giggles, giving Bucky a tight squeeze. “Sweetest assassin there _ ever _was--” 

Bucky rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning all the same. “Keep it up, Rogers. I may have to remind you why people fear me.” 

“The Winter Soldier is a cuddler,” Steve continues. Bucky can feel Steve shaking with silent snickers from his place stretched out on top of Bucky. “My little cuddle bug.”

Bucky just sighs softly, his nose in Steve’s hair. “I guess that’s a title I’ll have to live with,” He mutters. 

Steve quiets down, and they enjoy the silence together, soaking in the feeling of looseness in their limbs and closeness with each other. “I love you,” Steve tells him softly. “So much.” 

Bucky smiles fondly up at Steve’s ceiling. “What a coincidence, then,” He says, “that I love you right back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you all are staying safe!! We're almost there!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm going to be so sad when this is done :( this fic has been one my favorites to write. 
> 
> if you have any ideas or things you'd like to see Buck and Steve doing in the next couple of chapters and the epilogue please let me know!!!!!!! 
> 
> you can comment below or shoot me a DM on Tumblr: @wincestplease 
> 
> Happy quarantine!!


	22. I'm better because of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has a Christmas surprise for Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end of chatper notes for translations!

I took my time to come around

'Til you said you'd be mine  
I try to run but it's too late  
You got me, you got me  
You take my guard down  
I'm better now, I love you  
I'm better because of you

It's changed my life just to have you  
Now my world is feeling brand new  
So glad that you stole me  
Now there's nothing left we can't do

\- "because of you" Lewis Watson 

* * *

“I think we need to shower again,” Bucky sighs, running a hand back through his hair, which was damp both from the previous shower and from the sweat. 

“I don’t think I can stand up for that long,” Steve admits with a yawn. “Mm. We could take a bath. I’ve got bubble bath, n’candles. Could be real nice.”

“That does sound nice,” Bucky agrees. “Might be a bit of a tight fit, but we can make it work.” 

“I’m very compact. I don’t take up much space at all--oh, we’re moving.” Steve notices tiredly, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck and not protesting as Bucky sits up, gathering Steve up in his arms and carrying him bridal style into the bathroom with ease. Steve kicks his legs happily as they go, a smug smile on his face. Bucky assumed Steve was getting used to this treatment--and he was more than okay with that.

“I know you don’t,” Bucky agrees lazily, yawning himself as he puts a towel down on the bathroom counter and then sets Steve down on top of it so the cool tile wouldn’t be too cold on his bottom. Once Steve is curled up there, Bucky turns the tap on for the bath and gets the bubble bath, pouring a generous amount in. 

“I’m gettin’ hungry,” Steve announces behind him. “We should order somethin’. Don’t you eat, like, a _ lot _now?” 

“Like three or four times the average person, yeah,” Bucky shrugs, testing the water to feel the temperature, making sure it was as hot as Steve preferred. Ordering food _ did _sound good, but Bucky kind of had a surprise that went along with that, and he didn’t want to drop any hints just yet. He knew the payoff would be worth it, getting to see Steve’s face and his excitement.

As the water runs to fill the bath, Bucky turns back to Steve, pressing a few gentle kisses into his hair, and one on the tip of his nose. Steve hums happily at the affection, pressing his face up so that Bucky can give him more, his eyes closed in bliss, one of his hands curled around the dog tags on his neck. 

They looked good, of course, highlighting the jut of Steve’s collarbones, his delicate neck, the lean but defined muscles in his chest. 

“Less oogling. More kisses.” Steve demands, pursing his lips comically up at Bucky. 

Bucky obliges, of course, but then pulls back when he sees the bruises on Steve’s thighs, frowning at them.

They were dark purple, and red around the edges. They looked...painful. 

When Bucky raises his hands to hover his palms over them, the fingerprints lined up perfectly, confirming what he already knew. He had done this to Steve. 

“Stevie,” Bucky frowns, tracing a barely-there hand over the hurt. Guilt flooded his stomach. “I hurt you.” 

Steve frowns too, and then looks down to follow Bucky’s gaze. “Oh,” Steve shrugs, unbothered. “S’okay, Buck, I bruise like a peach. Doesn’t hurt at all.” 

Bucky stares at the bruises. He had been so proud of himself, being so in control, being able to make Steve feel good, being _ careful _with the smaller man. And yet--even when he was the most in control, he had still hurt him. 

“I’m real sorry, sweetheart,” Bucky rasps, bending down to press a gentle kiss to the area. “You shoulda told me I was hurting you.” 

“I _would_ have told you if you _were_ hurting me,” Steve snorts. He runs his hand through Bucky’s hair, and wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck, pulling him closer. “I told you, Buck. It felt amazing. ‘Sides, I think I’ve learned that I like a little bit of pain with my pleasure.” 

Bucky smiles at Steve then, because he can’t help it. “I _ am _ sorry,” He confirms, his arms wrapping around Steve. In the mirror behind Steve, Bucky watches as he drags his metal hand up and down Steve’s spine, the way his fingers bump over each vertebra, noticing how close to the surface of his skin Steve’s spine was, the ridges of it right _ there. _ It would be so easy for someone to hurt him, to _ snap-- _

“Buck.” Steve says sharply, interrupting his spiralling thoughts. “I’m safe, you’re safe, it’s Christmas, we just had some great sex, and now we’re going to take a lavender bubble bath. All is right in the world. Okay?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky hums, kissing him once more. Steve was making some solid points. “Okay.” 

“Bath looks ‘bout ready,” Steve nods towards the tub. “Let’s get in. M’freezing.” 

Bucky gets in first, lowering into the water with a quiet hiss. Steve liked his water hot enough to peel skin from bones, because he ran cold and liked the warmth it restored to his body. Bucky was learning to deal, but he could do with a few degrees colder. 

Regardless, when he’s in up to his chest, he opens his arms, wiggling his eyebrows at Steve. “Alright,” He grins. “Come on in.” 

Steve doesn’t waste a second. He steps in without hesitation and sinks right down on top of Bucky, settling into his lap like it was the only place in the world he belonged. The water comes up to Steve’s chin, and he closes his eyes and leans back against Bucky’s chest, letting it support him. 

“Hmm,” Steve sighs blissfully. “S’warm.” He felt the hot water soothe the aches in his bones, relax his muscles. The sweet smell of lavender filled the air, and the traffic buzzing outside with the odd jingle bell here and there was a peaceful soundtrack, along with Bucky’s even breathing. Steve tucked this memory away for later; he didn’t ever want to forget the peace of it.

“Feel good?” Bucky rumbles, his lips right by Steve’s ear. 

Steve smiles sleepily. “Feels amazing,” he agrees. “You take such good care of me, Buck.” 

Steve can feel Bucky hesitating behind him, like there is something he wants to say but doesn’t. Finally, he presses a kiss to Steve’s neck. “You take care of me just as much, Ace,” Bucky murmurs. His voice is heavy with emotion, and Steve feels the weight behind his words, how much Bucky means them. “You saved me when...no one else thought I was worth saving, including myself.” 

Steve felt guilty at that praise, like he didn’t deserve it, but he knew correcting Bucky would do no good. So instead he turns his head to press his nose in Bucky’s neck and lets out a content breath. “We have the rest of our lives to be like this. Isn’t that crazy?” 

“It’s somethin’ I never thought I’d get,” Bucky agrees. He hesitates again, clearing his throat. “Where do you see yourself....in five years?” 

Steve frowns. “What?” The question seemed like it was right off the page of a Cosmopolitan magazine: _ Twenty Questions to Ask Him to Figure Out If He’s The One! _

“In five years,” Bucky repeats. “Where d’you see yourself? Us?” 

Steve could tell by Bucky’s tone that he wasn’t just joking around--he really did want to know. “In five years,” Steve squints. “I guess...we’ll be in our apartment, ‘cause I don’t think I ever wanna move out of here. It has that extra bedroom in case--” He cuts himself short, biting his lip. 

Bucky catches the slip. “In case?” he prompts. 

“I know that...this is crazy,” Steve swallows, closing his eyes. “And that things are young, and--and we’ve never talked about it. But I’ve always seen kids in my future.” 

Bucky is silent for only a moment, but it feels like forever, Steve’s heard pounding to hear what he has to say next. “Kids,” Bucky echoes. Steve feels a little relieved at the smile he detects in Bucky’s voice. “You mean that?” 

“Yeah,” Steve laughs. “I think we’d be great dads. Don’t you?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, burying his nose in Steve’s hair. “I really, really do.” 

“So the spare bedroom. That can be the nursery.” Steve closes his eyes again, letting himself get lost in the fantasy of their future. “And I’ll continue working at the VA, maybe try to get in teaching art at the youth centre nearby, too. You’d still be doing your Avenger stuff, ‘cause I know you’d be too righteous to walk away and I can’t fault you for that, but you’d be extra careful knowin’ you’ve got another little person waitin’ for you to come home,” Steve is caught up in the image of himself holding a squirming baby with fat cheeks and dimpled hands, reaching out of his arms for Bucky, walking through the door in full tac-gear. Bucky would get undressed in a hurry at the door, locking his weapons out of reach, and then would scoop the child from Steve’s arms with a flourish and nuzzle them close, and the apartment would be filled the infant laughter, the happiest sound on earth--

“Steve?” Bucky pokes him gently in the ribs. “You still with me?” 

“Just thinkin’ about our future,” Steve smiles softly. “I just wanna experience all of that with you. Marriage. Parenting. Growing old…” 

“Marriage,” Bucky repeats, his voice warm, full of something Steve recognizes as hope. “You’re thinking about marrying my sorry ass?”

“Gotta put a ring on it ‘for someone else does,” Steve grins, laughing softly. “Our future is gonna be so bright, Buck. I can just see it.” 

“You got that right, sweetheart,” Bucky agrees. There was a nervous kind of excitement in his voice that Steve couldn’t place the reasoning for, but he was content to relax his body into Bucky’s. Bucky’s hands slide out from around Steve’s hips to press his thumbs into the knots in Steve’s shoulders.

“Sex _ and _a massage?” Steve groans, his body suddenly becoming even more relaxed than before. 

“I like making you feel good,” Bucky rumbles, and that just brings back.._ memories _of their previous activity. Steve blushes, shifting a little, and Bucky must notice because he snorts. “Easy, sweetheart.” 

“Says you,” Steve grumbles, grinding his ass a little. He can feel that Bucky is already half hard just from having Steve’s ass so close to him. It makes his own cock perk up in interest at the thought of having Bucky again, in a lazy way, with sleepy kisses and slow rolls of hips. Bucky works his hands into Steve’s shoulders some more, releasing the tension there. “You wanna go again already?”

“Mm,” Bucky hums, wrapping his arm around Steve and tugging him in closer. Steve felt Bucky’s hardness beneath him, proving that he was, in fact, ready to go again. “You’re just too tempting for your own good.”

Steve grins at that, wrapping his own arms on top of Bucky’s, pulling Bucky’s grip tighter around his own ribs. “M’still nice n’loose,” Steve practically purrs, shifting his hips a little just to feel the way Bucky’s arms flex around him as he does so.

“What happened to my blushing virgin?” Bucky murmurs. “Gone so soon?” 

“You’ve made me a sinner like you,” Steve shrugs. “I’m ruined. Whatcha gonna do ‘bout it?” 

Bucky dips his head so his lips ghosted over Steve’s neck, making him shudder. “What do you _ want _me to do about it, котенок?” 

Steve tilts his head back with a soft exhale, his eyes sliding shut as Bucky’s flesh hand travels down his torso and grips Steve with deft fingers, his hand feeling somehow hotter than the water they were in.

“Buck,” Steve breathes. 

Bucky hums in response, working Steve up and down in slow, methodical tugs. 

“I want you,” Steve pleads, his hips jerking under Bucky’s touch. “C’mon, Buck--make me feel good.”

“I’ve got you, Stevie,” Bucky rumbles. With a graceful movement, Bucky lines himself up under Steve, the head of his cock probing at Steve’s hole, still slick with the lube and come of their previous activities. 

“Don’t need to open me up,” Steve urges. “M’ready for you.” 

“I don’t wanna hurt you, doll, just hold on--”

Steve, always impatient, grunts and braces either hand, cast and not, on the side of the tub to raise himself up, and then promptly sits down hard on Bucky’s cock, forcing it all the way inside himself.

“_Steve,” _Bucky moans, his arms constricted tight around Steve’s middle. Steve forgets how to breathe for a second, the burn and pleasure taking up all conscious thought. “нетерпеливая мелочь…”

“Jesus,” Steve pants, clenching and unclenching around Bucky’s cock. He didn’t know if he would ever get used to this--the pleasure that turned into the burn, the feeling of being completely intertwined with Bucky. 

“You okay?” Bucky checks in, his hips twitching a little, clearly struggling to stay still, to not fuck into Steve like they both want. 

Steve lifts himself up and lowers down again, both of them moaning at the sensation. “Stevie,” Bucky groans appreciatively. “You gonna ride me, kitten?” 

“Yeah,” Steve pants, rolling his hips to feel Bucky move inside him, “See how good I can take it, Buck?” 

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” Bucky groans in agreement, his powerful thighs twitching under Steve as Steve begins to ride Bucky’s cock with slow, languid movements. “So good for me, sweetheart. Such a perfect little--”

“Slut?” Steve supplies in a breathy moan. Bucky’s fingers tighten on him, and his hips jerk up into Steve involuntarily, making the water of the tub slosh against the sides. “You can say it, Buck, c’mon,” Steve prompts, picking up the pace a little as he slides himself up and down, filling himself up with Bucky’s cock. He wasn’t sure where this was coming from--this dirty talk, the need to feel Bucky claim him in a dark way. “Tell me what a good little slut I am for you,”

“Jesus,” Bucky pants, his hips moving in rhythm with Steve’s, meeting every roll of Steve’s hips with powerful thrusts, no longer able to sit still. “Those are dirty words for s-such a pretty mouth,” 

“Tell me,” Steve repeats, though it’s more of a moan. “Tell me?” 

Bucky’s left hand snakes up Steve’s arm and grabs a handful of his hair, not tight enough to hurt, but enough that it said that _ Bucky _was in control. Using his grip, he tilts Steve’s head back just a little, enough to expose his throat as he continues to ride Bucky for all its worth. Steve’s lips part as Bucky nips at his ear lobe his neck, and then growls in a low voice, “Such a good little slut for me, Stevie. Bein’ a good little шлюха, hmm? You need it so bad, don’t you?” 

“_Yes,” _ Steve whimpers, his movements getting more frantic. The water sloshed around the two of them, spilling on the floor and making a mess. Steve didn’t care in the slightest. “I _ need _it, Buck, I need you,” 

“So fuckin’ _ tight, _you feel so good--”

“Christ,” Steve groans. “Buck--”

“Just like that, baby,” Bucky encourages, his hips starting to do more of the work as Steve’s thighs begin to shake, his knuckles going to white on their grip on the tub. “Doin’ so good--”

“Tell me I’m yours,” Steve pleads, eyes screwed shut as he focuses on the feeling of Bucky fucking up into him hard, Bucky’s hand stroking his cock in pace with his thrusts. 

“You’re _ mine,” _Bucky growls, nipping at Steve’s earlobe. “All mine, sweetheart--you belong to me--”

“I’m close,” Steve groans. “M’so close.” It hadn’t taken long--the fire in his belly hadn’t really gone out fully after their first round, and Bucky’s possessive nature was showing more and more as he held Steve against his body with enough force to keep him there but not tight enough to hurt, and Steve was _ loving _it. 

“That’s it,” Bucky soothes, his thrust from below Steve getting more frantic as he chases his own release. Steve could feel Bucky’s thick thighs clenching beneath him. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

Steve’s body goes rigid, muscles clenching hard, as if Bucky saying the words had willed it so. His hips jerk hard, grinding down into Bucky as he comes with a soft “_Buck,” _on his parted lips. 

Bucky isn’t far behind. As Steve’s own orgasm takes him, his hole clenches tight around Bucky. Bucky wraps one arm around Steve’s hips and the other diagonally across his frail chest, pumping into him the last few times, hard, before he comes too, buried deep inside Steve.

They breathe together for a few moments, in and out, Steve turning around in Bucky’s arms to press their chests together, tucking his face into Bucky’s neck and nuzzling in close. 

“Mm,” Steve sighs, letting his eyelids drift shut. “Okay. I think you’ve officially...fucked all of the life...out of my body.” 

Bucky snorts at him, gathering him in close. He pinches Steve’s bottom and he yelps, pinching Bucky right back on the bicep, with a touch that was hardly a pressure, let alone pain.

“You seem alive to me,” Bucky notes with a grin.

“Hardly,” Steve yawns dramatically. “I’m dead.”

The bath water was luke-warm now, and Steve’s arms were covered in goosebumps. “So much for gettin’ clean, hmm?” Bucky murmurs, wrapping his arms around Steve again to keep the smaller man warm. 

“Another bath,” Steve mumbles into Bucky’s neck. 

Bucky snorts. “Your wish is my command, your Majesty,” He teases, reaching around Steve to drain the tub. “S’gonna get cold while we get some more water in here.” 

“You’re warm,” Steve shrugs. He tucks his knees up into his chest, curling into a little ball that Bucky can easily gather up. 

Bucky presses a kiss into his hair. “I love you so much, Stevie.” 

“Love you too,” Steve yawns, hugging Bucky closer. 

“Even if I called you a slut?” Bucky chuckles, resting his chin on top of Steve’s head as the water drains around them. Once it was mostly gone, he would replace it with hot water and he’d take care of Steve. He’d wash him slowly, with care, he'd massage his neck and shoulders and spine, areas he knows hurt Steve daily though he never mentions it. 

“_ Especially _since you called me a slut,” Steve hums. Bucky can feel his smug little smile against his neck. He pokes Steve in the ribs just to hear the snicker it elicits from him. 

“Corrupted already,” Bucky sighs. “It can only get worse from here.” 

“Sex demon,” Steve agrees, his voice resigned. “You’ve created a monster.” 

“I suppose that is a consequence I’ll just have to accept.” Bucky hides his smile in Steve’s hair, soaking in the weight of Steve in his arms, the bony elbows digging into his ribs, the sharp nose against his collarbone. He had never been more comfortable. He had never belonged anywhere more.

***

An hour or so later, they were both dry and clean, they lounged on the couch, drinking coffee that Bucky had proudly made using a french press Steve didn’t even realize he owned until Bucky dug it out of the back of a cupboard.

Steve's body felt loose and relaxed, eased by Bucky's nimble hands and...well, the sex. He was Jell-O, and he had no complaints about it at all.

There was nothing really on TV, but they let the channels play idly, both of them mostly quiet, enjoying the nearness of the other. 

“I should call my friends,” Steve glanced at his phone, finally interrupting the silence. He can't believe he hadn't thought of it sooner. “I should wish them Merry Christmas.” 

Bucky shrugs, not meeting Steve’s gaze, staring ahead at the TV. “Sure, maybe later. Don’t interrupt this episode.” 

It wasn’t much like Bucky to get so engrossed in a TV show, especially what was just a sitcom that Steve couldn’t even remember the name of. They had hardly been watching it. Had some tension broken out between Bucky and the other Avengers since Steve last saw them? 

Steve is about to pick up his phone to call his friends from another room when the doorbell rings.

Steve frowns, glancing at the door. “I’m not expecting anyone,” He tells Bucky suspiciously, lifting the blanket off of the both of them so that he can stand to get the door. 

Bucky sets his coffee down on the coffee table that he had helped Steve put together all those months ago, and stands, clearing his throat. Steve thinks he sees a flash of a smile there, on Bucky's face, but it wouldn't make any sense in the context of the situation.

Bucky hated being surprised by people showing up. “I’ll get it.” 

Steve frowns up at him. Bucky didn’t have that _ I will hurt whoever it is _protective glare in his eyes. He looked awfully relaxed considering as a ghost whenever someone knocked on Steve’s door without Steve expecting it Bucky basically lost his shit. 

“...Alright,” Steve squints, as Bucky pads down the hallway towards the door. Maybe Bucky was just extra relaxed after sex? 

Steve turns his attention back to the TV, his mind running over what they had done since the bath--why was Bucky acting so weird? 

Just when Steve is about to call out to ask who was at the door, he hears the sound of paws padding on the hardwood. Squinting, Steve calls out, “Wha--”

Steve adjusts to peer down the hall in the direction of the door, and his jaw drops. 

He jumps to his feet just in time to be greeted with Sam, Nat, Clint, Tony and Lucky, the group of them--even Tony--wrapping Steve up in a warm hug, a tangle of limbs and hair.

“_Merry Christmas_!” the group shouts in unison.

“You guys!” Steve gushes, pulling back to look at his friends with bewilderment. “What--what are you doing here?” 

“We knew Buck-o here was coming to see you,” Clint explains, scratching Lucky’s head as he talked. “And we know how much Christmas means to you.” 

Natasha and Clint are wearing matching Christmas hats that say _ if lost return to Natasha _ and _ Hi, I’m Natasha, _and matching PJ sets that looked impossibly cozy.

Stark, of course, was sporting dark wash jeans and a dress shirt, but he had an ugly Christmas tie on that Steve was pretty sure lit up and perhaps even sang at the press of a button. He was sure he’d soon find out.

Even Lucky had joined in the festive fun--he was wearing a little Christmas bandana around his neck, and his doggy smile, tongue lolling out to the side showed that he was clearly more than happy to be doing so. A very handsome boy, indeed.

To top it all off though, Sam was wearing a red and black ugly Christmas sweater that read _ Falcon is better than the Winter Soldier. Merry Christmas. _It looked like it had been professionally commissioned, with little stitch figures of Sam and Bucky sticking their tongues out at each other.

When Bucky noticed it, he arched a brow and gave Sam the middle finger. “No pizza for you,” Bucky declared with a glare. “Whoever made that for you is a traitor, and they have no taste. They got the proportions all wrong--why do I look so tiny? I’m like two inches taller than you, for starters, and--”

“_Boys,_” Natasha chimes in delicately. “It’s Christmas.” 

Sam and Bucky glare at each other, but Sam cracks a gap-toothed grin and Bucky snorts at him; clearly the arguing was just a strange facet of their newly found friendship. Steve had a lot to learn, he watches the two of them with wide, warm eyes. 

“I can’t believe you guys came,” Steve smiles, his heart giving a fond squeeze. All of his favourite people, here, together, on Christmas. It felt like a dream. 

“Pizza is on the way,” Clint explains, “I _ was _going to cook us a turkey, but then there was that whole central park nonsense this morning, and the day kinda got away from me,” he murmurs apologetically. "And we don't have any gifts, but--"

“Pizza sounds perfect!” Steve reassures him. “I don’t care about what we eat, and gifts don't matter. All that matters is that you guys are here. We're all together.”

“It’s tradition,” Sam shrugs. “Couldn’t miss out.” 

“So, surprise!” Tony chimes in, with jazz hands. “Hope we weren’t interrupting anything,” he arches a dark eyebrow at the pillows and blankets piled up high on the couch. 

“Uh,” Steve feels his face turn red without his consent. “D-Don’t be..ridiculous,” He stammers, and then hates himself for it, because he knows his blush and stutter just make what he and Bucky did all the more obvious. "We were just w-watching TV." 

Bucky wraps an easy arm around Steve’s shoulders, Steve’s cast squished uncomfortably between them. “You’re about two hours too late for _ that _ kind of interruption,” Bucky says smoothly, laying on the charm _ thick. _

“Oooh!” Natasha giggles with delight, rocking up on her tiptoes a little and clapping her hands together like a child. “It’s about _ damn time _you got some, Steve. Congratulations on losing the v-card!” 

“Oh god,” Steve groans, hiding his face in Bucky’s chest. He could feel the heat pulsating off of his cheeks at his furious blush. “Kill me, now.” 

“Was it good?” Natasha stage-whispers. Steve lifts his head from the heat of Bucky’s chest to glare at her. She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively in turn. 

“Nat!” He mutters, his ears hot. 

“_Hell _yeah,” Bucky confirms without a hint of shame or shyness. “Stevie is a little firecracker.” 

“Knew it,” Nat nods, completely serious, but she’s grinning, all teeth. “Nice one, Barnes.”

Steve watches in horror as he and Nat high five over his head, Nat jumping up a little to reach the hand that Bucky holds a little _ too _high, on purpose. 

Great--his best friends and his boyfriend were in cohorts against him. Steve could already _ feel _the teasing and trouble that would ensue from that alliance. 

And yet--this is all Steve's ever wanted. It seemed impossible, weeks ago, when Nat regarded Bucky only with cool facade and thinly veiled suspicion. Now they were teasing and high-fiving and...it was perfect. 

Steve glares up at Bucky, clearing his throat. “_Anyway,” _he says. “Enough about...that. C’mon and settle in. I’ll get the beanbag chair and a couple pillows. It won’t be the most comfortable but I think we should have enough room for everyone--”

“It will be perfect,” Sam interrupts with an easy smile. “I’ll help.” 

As Bucky picks up the coffee table with ease and slides it closer to the TV to make room for more seating, Sam and Steve grab the bean bag chair from Steve’s bedroom, a couple of the dining room table chairs, and some pillows to set up on the floor. 

It wasn’t perfect, but he knew his friends weren’t picky. This was about their time together--they could deal with less than optimal seating.

“Hey man,” Sam says, as they grab a couple of dining room chairs. The sound of laughter and joking drifts into the kitchen, muffled a little. It’s a really, really nice sound. “You look really happy.” 

Steve looks up at Sam, startled by the sudden warmth in Sam’s voice. He gives his friend a shy smile. They hadn’t talked as much as Steve would have liked in the past couple of weeks, since Steve had basically shut out everything good in his life to wallow in self-pity, but he was so thankful that his friendships were on the mend. 

“I am,” He tells him honestly. “I’m really happy you’re here. You know how much you all mean to me.”

“I mean with Barnes,” Sam murmurs. “You and him--you seem really happy.”

“I thought you two didn’t get along?” Steve frowns. “Nat said something ‘bout you puttin’ ketchup in Bucky’s socks--”

Sam waves his hand in dismissal with a fond roll of his dark eyes. “Yeah, yeah. We get along fine. He’s actually a pretty cool guy. Not as cool as _ me, _of course--”

“--Of course,” Steve echoes playfully, grinning. “But you’re serious? You actually like him?” 

Sam shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, Steve. I do. I think...we could be like brothers.”

Steve is suddenly emotional, blinking fast to stop the tears from coming. 

Bucky and Sam, like brothers. His friends and Bucky, one unit together. 

When an uproar of laughter comes from the living room followed by Bucky’s cheerful voice saying “I _ told _you assholes I could moonwalk!”, Steve’s smile only grows. 

“Of course, I’m the cool older brother with the good taste for music and all the ladies want me, and he’s the like, you know, the nerdy younger brother who still sucks his thumb in his sleep and thinks that being able to flip a knife around with your eyes closed is a _ normal _talent--”

Steve interrupts Sam, putting down the chair he was holding and throwing his arms around Sam’s torso. How long had it been since he had last hugged his friend? Too long, definitely. 

Steve sighs, squeezing a little tighter. His cast was probably digging into Sam’s back a little too much to be comfortable for him, but Steve highly doubted he was going to say anything about it. 

Sam wraps his arms around Steve, rocking them slightly from side to side, a Sam classic. “Missed you,” Steve tells him with a sniffle. “Things are gonna be easier, now.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Sam mutters. “But at least whatever comes next, we can face it together.” 

“Damn right.” Steve agrees heartedly. 

“Hey!” Bucky interrupts, his voice suddenly close. “You trying to steal my guy from me?” 

“Buck,” Steve snorts, pulling back from Sam. He turns around to see Bucky leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, arms folded over his broad chest, brow raised. He looked better than he had any right to. “Relax, he’s not trying to--”

Bucky walks right past Steve and wraps an arm over Sam’s shoulders, patting Sam hard in the chest a few times. “Is this man bothering you, Samuel?” Bucky asks Sam, arching an accusing brow at Steve. 

Steve bites down on his lip to hide his grin, but can’t help the little giggle of laughter that escapes at Bucky’s comical voice. Sam plays along, lifting his chin and pretending to sniffle away tears. “He was ravishing me!” 

Bucky gasps like a scandalized Southern bell, hand to his chest. He and Steve share a secret smile. “How dare he! Men and their carnal ways--” 

Sam turns his face dramatically away from Steve, but there is a smile playing at his lips, too. “He’s not worth our time, Barnes. Let’s get out of here.” 

Together, arm in arm, the two march out of the kitchen into the living room like two peas in a pod. Steve feels a bubbling of happiness in his chest, so strong that he nearly skips after them, chairs in his arms.

***

The pizza comes, and they eat like a pack of wolves, devouring six large pies. Steve was seated on Bucky’s lap _ to save space, _of course, and had his cold nose pressed into Bucky’s neck. 

Bucky couldn’t peek at him to check, but based on his stillness and even breathing, Steve had been asleep for the past twenty minutes. 

Beside them on the couch was Clint, with Lucky snoring at his feet and Natalia tucked up small in his lap. 

They had never officially confirmed anything as far as Bucky was aware--and Natalia would shoot anyone who asked--but Bucky knew that Clint and Nat were happy. They were good for each other. 

At certain intervals, Clint would tuck Natalia’s hair behind her ear to keep it out of her face, or whisper an inside joke to her that would make her giggle or snort. 

It was nice to see her like that, at ease and laughing.

Stark was splayed out in the beanbag chair snoring even louder than Lucky, one of Steve’s _ Star Wars _quilts tossed over him, and Sam was clutching a pillow to his chest with one arm and a bottle of wine in the other from his spot on the dining room chair, legs folded under him.

_ Elf _was playing on Steve’s TV, the second movie in their Christmas marathon, but pretty much everyone was exhausted and ready for bed already. The Avengers had had one hell of a day.

“He asleep?” Natalia murmurs from beside him, keeping her voice soft.

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms, brushing his fingers through Steve’s hair. 

“Mine, too,” She grins, glancing up at Clint, who’s head had fallen back against the couch, mouth wide open. Bucky thinks he sees a bit of drool. 

Bucky snorts at the sight. “Long day for these guys,” He grins. “I’m gonna take him to bed soon. He’ll get a sore back if he sleeps like this much longer.” His flesh hand cards lazily through Steve’s blond hair.

Natalia gives him a fond smile, her eyes tracking the gentle way Bucky touched Steve. “Быть влюбленным выглядит хорошо на вас,” She whispers. “I’m happy for you, Soldier.”

Bucky returns the smile, glancing from her to Clint. “Я мог бы сказать то же самое о тебе.”

Natalia’s smile turns into a smirk. Her fingers are interlaced with Clint’s. “Perhaps.” It was more of an admittance than Bucky ever thought he would get, so he winks at her and leaves it at that. 

“You know,” Natasha says casually, unwilling to let the conversation dry up just yet. “Something has been on my mind.” 

“Do tell.”

"The laptop you had with you, in your cell…” 

“What about it?” Bucky murmurs. Sam shoots them a glare for talking during the movie, and then turns back to the film, completely engrossed. He takes a swig of wine from the bottle. 

“I went through the browser history afterward--you know, for intel purposes--”

“And pure curiosity,” Bucky interrupts, because he knows her well, even if they had both changed. She was never one to turn down the opportunity for more knowledge.

“Yes,” She admits. She tilts her head curiously. Then, in Russian, so the words could be just between them, she whispers “Вы хотите выйти за него замуж.”

Bucky swallows, looking down at Steve’s small body, curled up comfortably in his arms. He had never wanted anything more, he had never wanted to tie himself to one person so completely. He wanted Steve to be _ his _in every way possible. He wanted to grow old with Steve, to see all the ways time and love and laughter change his face, his hands, his mind. 

“More than anything,” Bucky admits. “Он владеет мной.” 

Natasha rests her head on Clint’s shoulder, her smile never fading. “Yes,” She agrees wryly. “I’ve noticed.” 

“Он владеет всеми нами,” Bucky corrects her, arching his brow, “мы все привлечены к его магии.”

“His big heart,” Natasha agrees, sighing quietly. Clint presses a chaste kiss to her hair, and she leans further into him. “He has a way about him.” 

“Yes,” Bucky sighs. He had witnessed, first hand, how everyone fell into Steve’s magic--he’s heart, his strong sense of right and wrong, his selflessness. He was powerless to it, but before him, Sam, Clint and Nat had all fallen in love with the tiny blond who fought hard for life, and now, for love. Even Tony, who Bucky was sure would never want to be caught dead in this part of town, had trekked out here with the rest of the team, and felt comfortable enough to sleep soundly on a _ bean bag _chair. That was Steve’s magic. He made every single person feel like they belonged. “Goodnight, маленькая птица."

Carefully, so as not to jostle the sleeping blond in his arms, Bucky gets to his feet, carrying Steve bridal style into his room. Natalia watches them go with a warm, pleased smile. 

Bucky feels her approving stare on his back as he makes his way down the hall, transferring Steve’s weight easily to one arm so he can open the door with his other.

“Mm?” Steve murmurs in his sleep, his hands grabbing fistfuls of Bucky’s shirt. 

“Shh, Stevie. S’me. Go back to sleep,” Bucky soothes, pulling back the covers of Steve’s bed and slowly lowering him down until he was lying on his back. Bucky pulls the blankets back up, up to Steve’s chin where he knows Steve likes them, and turns to leave so he can clean up the rest of the mess in the living room. 

“Buck?” Steve yawns, one of his eyes peeking open at Bucky. Steve closes his eyes again and makes grabby hands towards Bucky. “Where are y’going? C’mere.”

Bucky hesitates, but he knows he can’t walk away from Steve like that, sleepy and warm and wanting Bucky to hold him. Bucky climbs into bed behind Steve, and tugs the smaller man against his chest. The group would know to show themselves out when it was time. 

Steve turns to face Bucky and snuggles in close, sighing in contentedness when he’s finally comfortable. “This was a perfect day,” Steve yawns again, smiling a little. 

“Yes, it was,” Bucky agrees, his metal arm tracing invisible patterns up and down Steve’s crooked spine. He presses his nose to Steve’s temple, letting the day soak into their bed, the peace of the evening and the safety of the moon, offering just enough light to keep the dark at bay. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” 

It would be the first of many, Bucky hoped. Many Christmases, many memories. Steve, Nat, Clint, Sam, Tony, himself. Laughter. Pizza, movies. Lucky, wagging his tail. 

The future seemed like a long stretch of sunshine, laid out before them, theirs for the taking. They deserved it, didn’t they? 

If anyone deserved the peace of a lovers embrace, it was those two men, curled around each other in a bed that would never feel the same without the other there. Steve and Bucky, two halves of a whole. Two souls, born apart, but always meant to find each other. 

“Hmm,” Steve hums, kissing Bucky’s collarbone sweetly. Bucky’s heart gives a fond squeeze as Steve tosses his skinny thigh over Bucky’s hips, pressing their bodies even closer. “Merry Christmas, Buck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: 
> 
> Быть влюбленным выглядит хорошо на вас = Being in love is a good look on you  
Я мог бы сказать то же самое о тебе = I could say the same thing about you  
Вы хотите выйти за него замуж = Do you want to marry him?  
Он владеет мной = He owns me  
Он владеет всеми нами = He owns all of us  
мы все привлечены к его магии = We are all attracted to his magic  
маленькая птица = little bird


	23. I'm giving you my life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their whole lives stretched out in front of Steve, brilliant and full of memories yet to be made. He was going to belong to Bucky in every way possible, and Bucky would belong to him in the same ways. Equals. Partners in life. 
> 
> They would never have to be alone again.

_ Be my, be my, be my saving grace  
Won't you be my, be my, be my saving grace  
  
When my heart's getting older  
And my body is breakin' down  
In my head yeah I know that I’ll be by your side  
I don't know about the future  
No one knows what the future holds  
All I know is I know that I'm giving you my life _

\- _Saving Grace, _Kodeline

* * *

“Again,” Steve grunts, wiping the sweat from his brow with a heavy hand. “C’mon, I’ve almost got it.” 

Bucky eyes him dubiously. “We can take a break--”

“No,” Steve snaps, cracking his neck. “_ Again.” _

He had to get this right. He was so close to getting the sequence, to letting his muscle memory take over. He was exhausted, but he felt strong. Ready. 

Bucky advances.

Steve didn’t think he’d ever get tired of this, watching Bucky flip the switch, going from his relaxed, goofy boyfriend to the stony-faced predator. 

“Close your eyes and turn around,” Bucky reminds him with a fond smile, breaking his posture for a moment just to give Steve a fond wink. “You know the drill.” 

“Mhm,” Steve does as he’s told, spreading his toes out on the mat of the gym for better grip. He tries not to brace--he knows he shouldn’t, but it’s hard. 

The hair on the back of his neck rises as he feels Bucky approaching, something they’d worked hard on. Steve had poor hearing and even worse eyesight, so Bucky was teaching him to _ “listen to the air”. _Focus on the way the air was moving around the room, listen to what it was telling him.

As Bucky proudly informed him (and anyone else who would listen), Steve already had _ great _gut instincts. Bucky was teaching Steve how to hone in and listen to them.

He felt the disturbance of Bucky’s presence, and he inhales a sharp breath. 

Bucky attacks.

He’s careful with Steve but firm enough that Steve’s adrenaline kicks in. Bucky wraps him in a headlock from behind and presses a prop knife just below his chin. 

Steve knows what to do. He tucks his chin immediately down to his chest, preserving his airway and preventing himself from being choked out. Then he uses his newly un-casted arm (although his wrist was wrapped in a temporary splint to give him some extra support during training) and punches Bucky hard in the gut. Bucky’s grip loosens slightly, but not enough for Steve to slip free. 

Steve elbows him in the ribs and then, in quick succession, uses his heel to scrape hard down the front of Bucky’s shins. 

He grabs Bucky’s fist, the one holding the fake knife, and while Bucky is distracted with the pain from his gut and leg, Steve presses the knife into Bucky’s abdomen. 

When Bucky doesn’t react, Steve arches a brow. “C’mon, being stabbed in the stomach would at _least_ make you double over. We're assuming here that I'm not going to be fighting Enhanced assholes.” 

Bucky hums in agreement and doubles over dramatically with a smirk. "My bad, Ace," He snorts.

From there, Steve grabs Bucky’s head with both hands and pretends to ram his knee hard into Bucky’s temple, a move that would have (if done correctly) at least stunned Steve's attacker, perhaps even knock them unconscious. 

Bucky uses his low vantage point to tackle Steve, twisting them at the last second before they hit the mat so that Bucky’s body absorbed the blow, with Steve landed clumsily on top of him. 

Bucky grabs the knife, still within arms reach, and presses the false blade into Steve’s neck before Steve's eyes can even track the movement. 

“Game over,” Bucky purses his lips, smiling softly up at Steve. “That was better than last time, though.” 

Steve plucked the fake knife out of Bucky’s hand, frustrated. “I almost had you,” he complains, breathing hard. “I was so close.”

They’d been training twice a week for about an hour and a bit each time, trying to instill some muscle-memory in Steve, in case he was ever put in danger because of his relation to Bucky and the other Avengers. It was a reality that no one _ wanted _to consider, but a possibility all the same. And Steve wanted to be ready.

The private studio in the gym of the Avengers tower gave them the privacy that Steve preferred--it meant Bucky got sweaty and didn’t feel self conscious about being shirtless, worried about the stares he might get from the team about his scars.

Steve _ loved _seeing Bucky shirtless, and with the glow of sweat all over his defined chest, barefoot on the mat, a predatory grin on his face? Yeah, no wonder Steve was so eager to train. 

And he was a fast learner. Already, Steve had been able to put Bucky on his back a few times, as long as he had the element of surprise. 

“You’ve been doing incredible,” Bucky reassures him, his large hands holding Steve’s hips. “But there’s always room for improvement, you know that.” 

“Is that so?” Steve arches a brow, shifting a little from his position on top of Bucky, rolling their hips together experimentally. “Maybe you should show me again.” 

Bucky bites his lip. “Steve,” He mutters, disapproving. "You're losing focus."

“What? C’mon, no one can see us in here,” Steve purrs, his teeth nipping a little at Bucky’s neck. “Just...please?”

Bucky’s hands tighten their grip. “Jesus Chr--” 

Steve moves fast, before Bucky, who is half hard and thoroughly distracted, can stop him. He grabs the knife with both hands and drives it down into Bucky’s chest. The spring-loaded prop lands right where Bucky’s heartbeats quickly between them. 

“Game over,” Steve echoes sweetly, hopping off of Bucky and getting to his feet, dusting his knees off smugly. “Gotcha.” Steve's chest swells with pride. He _got _Bucky. He caught him by surprise. 

Bucky is staring up at him with a mixture of lust and wonder. It feels...good, to be looked at like that. Steve's grin widens. "Why are you gawking at me like that, huh? Are you pissed that I got the jump on you--"

“Marry me,” Bucky blurts out, and then gapes at himself like he can’t believe he just said that out loud. Steve's jaw just about hits the floor. He blinks blankly at Bucky for a few moments, trying to figure out of he _really _heard what he thought he did. 

“_What?” _Steve squeaks finally, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. He didn't know his voice could go that high. “Is that a joke?” 

Bucky gets to his knees, scrambling a little, looking less graceful than he normally did, proof of his nerves. “Steve,” Bucky clears his throat. “This--this isn’t how I wanted to do it. I--I had a _plan, _dammit, dinner and candles and rose petals...It was gonna be perfect," He takes a steadying breath. "But c'mon, that ain't us. We aren't _conventional, _Ace. And, Jesus. I can’t have you standing there, looking at me like that, and not have you be _ mine _in every way possible,” He swallows, running a hand through his hair.

"Whoa," Steve breathes, his mind blanking. "I--"

“I want to be yours. I've wanted that since the minute you walked into our apartment,” Bucky murmurs, cutting Steve off. “I want to--to show you off. I want to tie myself to you. I want to grow old with you, and adopt as many babies as possible and raise them up to have a pure heart, a heart like yours,” Bucky grabs Steve’s hands in his, and Steve sees that, just like his own eyes, Bucky’s eyes are wet with tears. Bucky takes a shaky breath. “This isn’t very romantic, is it? I should have waited--” 

“Buck,” Steve shakes his head, a million thoughts running through his mind. "Is this for real?"

“Today...things aren’t like they were when I was born,” Bucky continues, squeezing Steve’s hands. “Don’t you get it, sweetheart? I had to wait a _ hell _ of a long time, to meet you. I _ had _ to--that’s the way the universe designed it, for us. Our story. Because if we had met in any other decade, I wouldn’t have been able to do this, to ask this of you. But now I can, I can hold your hand in public and kiss you in the coffee shop and I can _ be your husband, _baby. I can be yours, forever,” Bucky didn’t wipe his tears, he let them fall freely down his cheeks, his eyes looking somehow even bluer than they normally did. “If you’ll have me, Stevie, I promise--I’ll never take your love for granted. I’ll protect you, and your stubborn heart, I’ll stand by you through all of life’s trials. I will remind you, as often as you need, how wonderful you are.” 

“Bucky, I,” Steve’s lips are trembling so hard it’s difficult for him to speak. “How do I deserve this?”

"We were meant to be," Bucky reminds him, pressing his lips to Steve's hands, holding them there, a thousand unsaid things flashing in the air between them as they stare at each other. Two sweaty, broken men, who learned to love through the eyes of the other. Everything had come down to this. "How lucky were we, Ace, to find each other? When every _single _thing we've faced, said we were doomed? It was--"

"Fate," Steve replies through his tears, offering a wobbly smile. "It was fate." 

"That's right," Bucky agrees softly. “Steven Grant Rogers,” Bucky swallows again, looking up at Steve with those devastating eyes. “Would you make me the happiest man on this earth? Will you marry me?”

Steve can’t answer. Sobs overtake him, and instead, he wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck and crashes them to the mat together, making Bucky fall back onto the mat, his arms wrapped tightly around Steve. Marriage. A future. Tiny dimpled hands, reaching for him. Laughter and giggles, rocking chairs..a peaceful end. 

Their whole lives stretched out in front of Steve, brilliant and full of memories yet to be made. He was going to belong to Bucky in every way possible, and Bucky would belong to him in the same ways. Equals. Partners in life. 

They would never have to be alone again.

“Is that a yes?” Bucky sniffles hopefully, his face buried in Steve’s neck. 

“Yes!” Steve shouts, crashing their mouths together. Between frantic kisses, he whispers, over and over again, “Yes, yes! Of _ course, _ Buck--”

“Boys,” A voice interrupts from the door of the studio. Steve yelps in surprise and Bucky tosses him off to the side with ease, doing some kind of acrobatic kip-up to get to his feet, standing protectively in front of Steve before they both realize it’s just Pepper, holding a tablet and looking perfectly pristine in a cocktail dress and red-bottom pumps. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” She grins, looking amused. 

“You shouldn’t startle an ex-assassin,” Steve teases her, getting to her feet slowly. He cracks his back with a chuckle, wiping the remaining tears from his face. “He might throw his boyfriend in surprise.” 

“Fiance,” Bucky corrects with a smile as wide as Steve has ever seen. “Sorry ‘bout that, возлюбленная,” He chuckles, kissing the top of Steve’s head. He seems giddy, and the feeling is contagious. Steve’s toes curl with excitement. He was Bucky’s _ fiance _. It seemed impossible. He leans into Bucky's sturdy chest. His rock, now, and forever. 

“_Fiance_?” Pepper gasps, and then sets down her table to rush to hug them both. “Are you serious?” 

“The ring is back in the apartment,” Bucky tells both Pepper and Steve, smiling apologetically. “But he said yes.” 

“Oh my god!” Pepper squeals, gripping them both tightly in her surprisingly strong arms. “Congratulations, you two! I’m so, so happy for you both.”

They both fold her slender frame into theirs, accepting her congrats graciously. “So, the engagement party? Tonight?” She grins, her eyes bouncing back and forth between them. “Please?” 

“Oh, I don’t know if we really need that--” Steve begins to say, at the same time Bucky shouts, “_ Yes!” _

“Excellent!” Pepper grins. “We need to celebrate good news when we get it. It’s not all the time we have reason to.”

“You can keep our secret safe, until tonight, when we announce it?” Bucky challenges her. “I think we should tell everyone all together.” 

Pepper nods seriously. “Your secret is safe with me, for the next few hours. And don’t worry about the details, I’ll get it all figured out, of course. It’s going to be _ lovely. _” 

“Thank you, Pepper, but you’re so busy, you really don’t need to--” Steve tells her. He didn’t love the idea of being the center of attention all night, although all of his friends getting together to celebrate he and Bucky did sound nice. 

Maybe taking an evening to revel in the joy he’d found with all of his favourite people _ would _be nice.

“Please, it’s a piece of cake,” She reassures Steve warmly. She turns to leave, probably already trying to figure out what caterer would be able to whip something up on such short notice when she hesitates on the threshold. “Oh, right. I came in here for a reason, not just to snoop.” 

Bucky frowns, obviously trying to figure out what it could have been that Pepper would have come in person to tell them, rather than just announcing it to JARVIS to pass the message along. “I thought I wasn’t due for another mission ‘till next week--” 

“Not another mission,” Pepper shakes her head with a soft smile. She leans against the threshold of the studio door, looking a little apologetic. “This is something you’re going to consider much, _ much _worse, unfortunately. But, all the same, it must be done.” 

Dread filled Steve’s stomach. “What?” He squeaks. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

Bucky squints at her, waiting for her to spit it out. 

Pepper let out a long sigh, hugging her tablet to her chest. “That’s right, Barnes,” she said regretfully. “It’s time for your first press conference.”


	24. It feels like winter follows you around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re going to be fine. It’s just a little PR, Buck, nothin’ you can’t handle. You can always just say no comment, remember? Just like Pepper told you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end of the chapter notes for chapter warnings :)  
Stay safe & I hope you enjoy! We're getting closer and closer to the end which is exciting but also so sad :(

_Take your heart out of your holster_   
_What if he never had to go?_   
_What if we never knew October?_   
_Would you run into the open?_   
_Would you take back all they told ya? I'm_

_Holding, waiting for something_   
_That'll keep you from the cold_   
_It feels like winter follows you around_

\- Corner, Dermot Kennedy

* * *

“Ooooh,” Steve coos, holding up his phone for inspection, pinching his fingers to zoom in on the picture with a mischievous grin. “_Look _ at this one! They’ve edited a flower crown onto your head, Buck! S’cute,” He grins at the picture, smothering a cough in his elbow as he does. “Ooh, and this one! This one is _ fanart, _ Buck, and you’ve got a little kitty cat with you! My _ heart! _” 

Bucky readjusts his tie and scowls at Steve’s phone, barely glancing over at it. “Stop showing me Winter Soldier fan accounts, Steve,” He pleads with a groan. “I don’t wanna see ‘em. And where is your inhaler? Your cough sounds bad--” Bucky pats down his suit pocket. 

Normally, Bucky liked to keep three inhalers around--one for Steve’s pocket, one for the apartment, and one for Bucky to always have on hand. 

When he remembers he hadn’t tucked the inhaler into his suit, he throws open the medicine cabinet and grabs the puffer, practically shoving it in Steve’s face with a knowing look.

Gone were the days of Steve floundering around in the apartment trying to remember where he put his one inhaler. Bucky’s new job with the Avengers ensured they had more than enough money to keep _ all _ of Steve’s required prescriptions around (and pretty much anything else they could want for) and Bucky was _ organized, _ dammit. He made _ sure _they always knew where one was.

The same day Bucky had proposed spontaneously in the gym, Steve had come down with a common cold and had been recovering for the past week. It wasn’t anything bad, really, just the sniffles and a slight cough, but it made Bucky flustered enough to ask Pepper to cancel the engagement party until this evening, pending Steve’s condition. 

When Steve had woken up having broken his fever, he confirmed that he was ready--and indeed, _ wanted-- _the party to be tonight. 

Pepper had pulled all the necessary strings and it was all arranged for this evening, after the PR conference and drinks.

“Buck, I’m _ fine--” _Steve is interrupted by another fit of coughs, strong enough they make him double over a little. “Just. Give me a sec.”

“You aren’t fine,” Bucky murmurs, voice softer. He presses the inhaler to Steve’s lips. “Breathe,” He reminds him, as he pushes down on the top to release the medicine. 

Steve obliges with an eye roll. 

“Maybe we should cancel tonight, until you’re feeling back up to 100 percent. And--and maybe I should stay here, in case you need me--”

“_Bucky,” _ Steve pushes the inhaler away. “I’m a grown man, and I’m _ fine. _ I feel a hundred times better than yesterday.Go finish your coffee, it will help you relax.”

Bucky purses his lips, staring down at Steve like he wants to argue, but eventually, he just sighs and pads into the kitchen, grabbing his mug and chugging it down without pausing for breath.

“Not what I meant,” Steve squinted at him. How could he even chug the burning hot liquid like that? Who _ was _his fiance? A madman, definitely. “Uh--”

Bucky slams the mug down on the counter like he’d just done a shot, and then looks back at Steve, his eyes panicked. “Okay. That helped. How long do I have until I need to go?” 

“You have _ time, _Buck, relax.” 

Bucky runs his fingers through his hair, frustrated with the way it kept falling back in his eyes. He brushes his teeth for the third time in the last hour, scrubbing at them like the already pearly whites had offended him personally.

Steve tries, once again, to lighten the mood. He scrolls through the Instagram hashtag and giggles delightedly with the results.

“Oh my god, this one is a video. It’s all your newsreel clips, edited to the tune of _ Deepthroat _by Cupcakke,” Steve gapes, a hand flying over his mouth, eyes wide. 

Bucky’s fanbase was new, since _ Bucky _was new to the Avengers, but it was rapidly growing, and it mainly consisted of women and men who, like Steve, appreciated how overall aesthetically pleasing Bucky really was. 

He watches the video on loop a few times, appreciating the way the person who edited the video made sure to pay close attention to Bucky’s thighs and ass. 

“Hmm. I don’t know, Buck. The media objectifying you _ may just be _ the best thing to happen to me. Lots of good stuff in the Winter Soldier hashtag on Instagram. It’s a _ gold _ mine. Imagine if you had an account? If you posted _ selfies? _Jesus, the fans would die.” 

“I am _ never _ getting _ Insta-ham _,” Bucky groans, messing around with his hair some more. “Not ever, ever.” He turns to Steve, throwing his hands up in the air. “Do we have a razor here? Can we just shave my head? I can’t go on TV looking like this.” 

“You were on TV looking like this,” Steve points to the phone, which shows a clip of Bucky in full tac gear, his hair matted with blood and sweat, body rigid as he braces to pounce. Honestly, although Bucky probably should have looked like a hot mess and even a bit scary, he really just looked...sexy. “And it’s insta_ gram, _ you old man, not insta _ ham--_” When he looks back up at Bucky, Steve sees that his jokes aren’t really landing. 

Bucky is freaking out. 

“Being on TV like this...this is different, Steve,” Bucky frets, his eyes wide and worried. “They’re going to ask me _ questions,_ about God-knows-what. And--And I’m gonna have to talk. It’s not just some civ with a camera-phone filming me while I shoot at the bad guys.” 

“People don’t say _ camera phone _anymore, either,” Steve reminds gently, trying to lighten the mood once again, but again, it doesn’t work. “Buck. You’re the smoothest talker I know, you’ll charm the pants right off of ‘em,” Steve says reassuringly. “Hey. C’mere,” He drags Bucky to stand in front of the mirror in the marble bathroom of their apartment at the tower, their home-away-from-home. “Lemme help.”

Steve wets his hands, and works the dampness through Bucky’s hair deliberately so that the water would bring out his natural waves. Then, carefully, Steve grabs a hair elastic (a new and exciting purchase that Steve had talked Bucky into) and gathers up Bucky’s hair into a careful bun, securing it with the elastic. 

He tugs a few pieces at the front, the strands of hair that were the curliest, free of the elastic so they framed his face. 

Steve kisses his cheek for good measure, and then steps back to appraise his work. 

Bucky looked...devastating. 

The suit that Tony had his tailor custom made to fit him was a deep navy blue colour, the same colour as Bucky’s Avenger’s tac suit, and it hugged Bucky in all the right places, highlighting the narrowness of his waist, the broadness of his shoulders, his thick thighs, his long legs. Bucky had wanted to wear a glove to cover his metal hand, but Steve had talked him out of it. It caught the line and reflected it back. 

“It’s a part of you,” Steve had hummed. “And you shouldn’t have to hide that.” 

“Buck,” Steve murmurs now, unable to look away. “You’re...wow. You’re gorgeous.” 

Bucky looked at his own reflection, and then met Steve’s eyes in the mirror. 

He gives Steve a small smirk, and Steve can see, without trying, the ghost who had appeared in army green, the one curl always artfully out of place, smirking at him in the kitchen of the apartment. 

The charming soldier, who was never short of a flirty comment, who never failed to make Steve blush. 

In some ways, Bucky was a completely different man than he had been then. 

But in most ways, and especially when he pulled that smile, he was _ exactly _the same.

“Thanks, sweetheart. But I think you look a thousand times better than me,” Bucky murmurs, wrapping his arms around Steve, who was clad in boxer briefs, Bucky’s too-big socks, and one of Bucky’s pullovers that came down to mid-thigh. 

That, complete with Steve’s glasses and bed-head, made for one interesting image. They looked like two polar opposites. 

Steve wrinkles his nose. “Hardly,” He snorts. “I’ll be here, watching you live on TV. Cheering you on from the home front.” 

“I wish I could take you with me,” Bucky groans, resting his chin on top of Steve’s head and sighing. 

“Like what--your emotional support human?” Steve snorts, very amused by the image of a stone-faced Bucky holding Steve's hand and dragging him through the crowds with a determined stride. 

Bucky’s eyes light up like he was actually considering that idea. “...Did you just find a loophole?” 

“Nope,” Steve sighs, popping his lips on the _ p _. “Rules are rules, Buck. ‘Sides, if you show me off to the world, you’d just break the heart of like, a million teenage girls who all kiss their Bucky posters before bed. Can’t have them going around knowing that I put a ring on it.” 

“Technically, _ I _ put a ring on _ you,” _Bucky corrects, grabbing Steve’s left hand and holding it up for both of them to admire. 

The gold band was simple, with one small embedded diamond in the centre. It was beautiful on its own, but when Bucky had admitted he had it made out of a broken gold chain from Steve’s mom’s old watch...well. That had just sealed the deal. 

Steve _ loved _it, and what it symbolized, from both his mother and Bucky. Two of the people he loved most in the world. Something he could wear, always, to remind him of their love.

“Yeah, you’re lucky you don’t have your wedding band yet or else ladies and gentlemen everywhere would be falling to their knees in despair,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Truly tragic.”

They were working on something with Stark--a new arm for Bucky, first of all, one that would be lighter and faster than the HYDRA designed arm, and one that wouldn’t carry quite so many bad memories. 

It would have a special engraving in the ring finger that would be Bucky’s “ring”. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about taking it off during combat or losing it in the heat of battle. It would be perfect.

Tony had been itching to replace the arm since the minute Bucky signed on as an Avenger, and the ring had convinced Bucky to finally let him take the final step and replace it. 

Tony had taken a few looks at Bucky’s arm and said he didn’t quite trust the way it was set up, there were some inner workings that made it seem like there were controls that would input drugs, sedatives. Although he had reassured them both that the drug chambers were empty, Tony worried that there were other features included in the arm that helped make the Winter Soldier compliant, perhaps even some kind of self-destruct button “_ just in case”. _

Steve didn’t like thinking about that possibility, so the sooner Tony got a new and improved arm for Bucky, the better.

“I don’t know what they all see in me, anyway. I’ve never even done an interview before, and the only images released of me are my army headshot from the war and my recent headshot that Pepper forced me to take. I’m not like Stark, blowing up every social media platform with…” he searches for the word, squinting at Steve for help. 

“Selfies,” Steve reminds him with a chuckle. “Yeah, I know you aren’t. I’m just saying, I think you should get Twitter. You owe it to the world to let ‘em hear every terrible pun or snide comment you make throughout the day. Or maybe I’ll make one on your behalf, called _ shit Bucky says. _ I bet it would blow up _ .” _

“You wouldn’t dare,” Bucky growls, nibbling at Steve’s ear. “Just c’mon, come with me. Please?”

Steve giggles and tries half-heartedly to squirm out of Bucky’s embrace, but Bucky’s arms are a vice locked around him. Steve’s not _ really _ complaining. 

“I’ve got to stay here, to protect the hearts of the fans, Buck. They all think you’ve got some kind of gentlemanly _ charm _since you were born a thousand years ago, plus a bonus bad-side from your years with Hydra. Seeing that you’re taken will just destroy all their hopes and dreams.” Steve explains cheerily. “So you should really be on your way.”

“Hmmm,” Bucky rumbles, getting that dangerous honey tone to his voice that Steve loved so much. “And what do _ you _think of me, возлюбленная?” 

Steve knew that tone--Bucky wanted something more than a kiss goodbye. Steve would happily oblige if he wasn’t afraid Nat and Pepper would castrate them both for Bucky being late. 

“I _ think,” _ Steve sighs, turning in Bucky’s arms to give him a kiss on the jaw, feeling the rough stubble there. “You should go. You’re going to be late, and Pepper will _ kill _you if you hold things up because you aren’t on time. First impressions--”

“Are everything,” Bucky finishes for him, quoting what a cheery Pepper had warned him of in their phone call last night. “Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs dramatically, but Steve can see how nervous he still is. 

“Hey,” Steve chimes, voice soft. “Look at me.” 

Bucky does. Steve grabs his face in both of his hands, which were mostly covered by the too-long sleeves of Bucky’s sweatshirt. “You’re going to be fine. It’s just a little PR, Buck, nothin’ you can’t handle. You can always just say _ no comment, _ remember? Just like Pepper told you _ .” _

“Right,” Bucky sighs, nodding slowly. He takes a deep, steadying breath, like the ones Steve knows he’s been practicing in his therapy sessions. “You’re right. I’m hyping it up too much, it’s not a big deal.” 

“They do one of these like every other week,” Steve agrees soothingly. “You’ll get used to them. You’ll be a pro.” 

“A pro,” Bucky echoes, straightening up. He gives Steve a kiss, probably for courage. "I can be charming, right?" 

“Right. And you look _ amazing,” _Steve reminds him proudly, “Everyone is going to love you even more than they already do.”

“Sirs,” Jarvis’s voice comes over the intercom in the apartment, making Steve jump a little. Bucky tenses at being startled but relaxes immediately when he realizes it’s just JARVIS. “My apologies for interrupting, but. Miss Potts uh--_ demands your immediate presence, _Mr. Barnes. Tick tock.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, giving Steve a once-over that was full of longing. Steve wiggles his toes in his too-big socks happily, his hands lost somewhere in the sleeves of Bucky’s jumper. He was comfortable, and extremely glad he didn’t have to join Bucky. He wasn’t ready to be in the public eye, not like how Bucky and the rest of the Avengers were. It was easy to soothe Bucky, but if the roles were reversed, Steve would be losing his goddamn mind. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” 

“And Mr. Rogers?” Jarvis confirms, sounding a little suspicious. 

“Is staying put, as per my orders,” Steve chimes, stretching out lazily. “Don’t worry, J. I’m not in _any_ rush to get HYDRA sniffing around me.” 

“Right, very good. If you’re ready to be on your way, then, Mr. Barnes, the PR room is just on level four of the tower.” 

“Gotcha. Thanks, Jarvis,” Bucky says. He always spoke just a tad too loud when communicating with JARVIS, like he wasn’t sure how good the AI’s reception was. Steve found it pretty cute. 

“Okay,” Steve sighs, feeling like a nervous parent at his child’s first dance recital, hoping they don’t forget the routine and run off stage. “You’ve got this, Buck. Your whole team is behind you, I’m behind you. You’re going to be awesome.” 

“I hope you’re right. You’re going to be watching?” 

“You know it,” Steve gestures to the huge flat screen. “Cheerin’ you on from right here.” 

“Okay. Good. I love you,” Bucky murmurs, leaning down to give Steve a sweet kiss, one hand on the door. 

“Love you more,” Steve calls after him, giving Bucky a light whack on the butt as he shuts the door behind him, offering Steve a fond eye-roll as he does.

And then the apartment is empty, and Steve is alone. 

He hugs his arms around himself and sighs. The TV was already on the appropriate news channel that would eventually cut to the PR conference once it began. The conference today was about Bucky’s place on the team. 

There had been a lot of media attention since the newest Avenger had quite an interesting history. Besides being a medical marvel, he was also a “bad” guy-gone-good, and the media was just eating that up. Bucky had built up quite a fanbase to be sure, but there were those who didn't root for him, who didn't trust him.

Pepper wanted to get ahead of the rumours by letting the press get a taste of Bucky so they wouldn’t have to continue to speculate. It was going to be short and sweet, the reporters all had to show their ID to gain access, and Pepper was going to act as a mediator. The other Avengers would be there too, of course, to present a united front. 

It would be fine. It had to be.

Steve changes lazily, tugging Buck’s sweater over his head with regret. He _ would _have stayed in his PJs all day long, but because Steve had come down with the common cold they’d had to postpone their engagement party and it had been moved to this evening after they did drinks as a team to celebrate Bucky officially joining. So...he had to look presentable.

Eventually, the Avengers would have to come clean about Steve to the public, his relationship to Bucky, and to all of them. It would get out sooner or later, when someone inevitably snaps a picture of the two of them out grocery shopping or out for dinner. 

Although Steve had never made a special effort to stay hidden when out with Sam or Nat, he knew that they had other friends and it wasn’t unusual for them to be seen out with people that were not also superheroes. 

Romantically, though...that was different. If Nat was ever seen kissing some random in a bar (or even Clint, really) it would be a media circus. The press _ loved _to speculate about who the Avengers were dating, and even though Tony and Pepper were clear about their established relationship, it didn’t stop the media from obsessing about it.

So when the time came, they’d have to approach that...carefully. The problem was lingering, but it felt unthreatening and far away. 

They had, in the past few weeks, enjoyed such a peaceful domestic life that it was hard to imagine anything able to ruin it. Steve didn’t _ want _to imagine it. 

He pulls on black skinny jeans and a pale grey v neck sweater, tucking it in a little at the front and running some gel through his hair until he decides it looked less like bedhead and more like intentionally messy. He stops to sneeze a few times, but he feels much better, just incredibly nervous for Bucky. 

With Bucky’s kiss still lingering on his lips, Steve pushes his glasses on, laces up his shoes, and steps out on the balcony of the apartment. 

_ Coffee tastes better outside, _Bucky had told him once. When they stayed at the apartment at the tower, which was only when Bucky was out of town for a mission or when something like a PR conference got them out of bed early in the morning, they enjoyed moments together on their balcony overlooking the city, sipping their coffee and soaking in the cold air. 

Christmas had passed, and the new year was looking brighter than it ever had before. The chill in the air rattled his bones a little, but it was a welcome awakening, shaking away the last bit of sleep that had been clinging to his skin. 

Spring was a while away for the city, but the air was feeling a bit warmer by the day. Soon he’d be able to take his canvas down to Central Park, sit outside and paint the scenery like he and his mother always used to do.

“And now, live from the Avengers Tower, we’ll turn to the 9:30 am press announcement, officially welcoming Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes to the team!” The news anchor announced cheerily, catching Steve’s attention. 

He raced inside, nearly spilling coffee on himself as he went, sitting down heavily on the couch with bated breath. He turned the volume on the huge TV up, not wanting to miss a thing. 

“First of all,” Pepper’s voice starts the conference off, “We’d like to thank everyone for being here, and for welcoming Sergeant Barnes to the team with open arms. He has been monumental to the success of the Avengers, and, as you can clearly see here, has become a part of the Avengers family.” 

They were behind a glass table, with Bucky in the middle, a white background printed with the Avengers logo on it behind the table. On Bucky’s left side was Natasha, and Sam, with Clint and Tony on his other side. 

Pepper stood at the podium on the right side, smartly dressed in a grey skirt suit. She looked bright-eyed, but Steve knew her well enough by now to read the weariness in her features. 

There was a lot riding on this, and although Bucky was well-liked by many, there were a few more conservative people who had voiced their opinion that killers, whether they technically at fault or not, should rot in jail. 

Steve trusted the process--the reporters had been warned to be respectful or risk ruining their reputation with Stark Industries and having their PR privileges removed; Pepper was very selective about who she allowed into the conferences. 

Steve had to trust that the screening process was effective and that those who wanted to see Bucky locked up for good wouldn’t be allowed in. 

“James Buchanan Barnes was born March 10th, 1917, right here in New York City,” Pepper begins. There are murmurs among the crowd. “When the call came from his country, Mr. Barnes enlisted to fight in the Second World War without hesitation,” Pepper explains, a note of pride in her voice, “He fought bravely, quickly becoming one of the best snipers with the Allied Forces. Bucky was put on a special operatives team of elite soldiers, called the Howling Commandos, where he was an asset and an honourable soldier,” she pauses to take a breath. Steve is on the edge of his seat. 

Bucky's posture was rigid. Steve could tell he was putting a lot of effort into looking neutral, but he knew that tightness around Bucky's eyes. _You're doing great, _he wants to tell him, _breathe._

“In 1945, while on a mission with the Commandos, Sergeant James Barnes was considered MIA after he fell off a train while conducting a raid,” Pepper continues matter-of-factly.

Bucky swallows and looks down, his postured uptight. 

Steve’s heart is in his throat. _Breathe, Bucky._

“However, while the US army considered Sergeant Barnes to be dead, Hydra found him, half alive, his left arm demolished from the fall,” She looks up from the paper before her to meet the eyes of the audience. “Mr. Barnes was taken as captive, brainwashed through a series of horrendous, torturous methods, and used as Hydra’s ‘asset’, where he had no agency and no choice in the matter. This year, Mr. Barnes made an extraordinary breakthrough in Hydra’s programming and through the strength of his own mind and body, along with the help of his team, was able to free himself from Hydra and become his own man once again.” Pepper nods, “And now, the Avengers team is fortunate enough to welcome Mr. Barnes as it’s newest member.” 

There was no mention of the apartment, Bucky’s ghost, or Steve in general. This was the public version of the story, and it had to be, for many reasons. 

“We know this is an exciting time,” Pepper continues slowly and deliberately, cameras flashing constantly. “But we ask that your questions remain respectful. This is a time of transition for us all, and Mr. Barnes has been through quite a lot,” she clears her throat.

Bucky looks a little nervous, but nothing that would make him appear weak to the press, just a slight jiggle in his leg given away by the glass table. 

He keeps his metal hand on his knee, mostly out of view. 

Natasha leans over and whispers something to him, and Bucky cracks a relieved smile. 

Whatever Natasha had to say to get that nervous look off of Bucky’s face, Steve was grateful. 

The camera zooms in on Bucky as he grins, staying on his face, until Pepper clears her throat. “Right. Then, we will begin with a brief statement from Mr. Barnes, and then we’ll open up the floor for questions.” 

Bucky looks like he’s not sure if he should stay sitting or walk over to the podium, but Pepper gives him a reassuring smile, one that seems to say, _ you’re alright, stay there. _Bucky clears his throat, and the microphone squeaks a little. 

He laughs nervously and brushes the stray curl out of his face. It stubbornly falls back into place, but he leaves it this time. His tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“Um,” He says into the microphone, listening to it echo around him. “Hello.” 

“Come on,” Steve urges, holding on to his dog tags with a sweaty palm. “Pull it together, you got this.” 

“I’m James,” Bucky says into the mic, his voice a little hard, a little defensive. 

“Soften up, Buck,” Steve mutters under his breath. He knew that the world already had misconceptions about Bucky--that he was stone-cold, heartless, intimidating...Steve knew this was Bucky’s opportunity to win the trust of everyone watching. 

As if Bucky could hear him, he cracks a small, soft smile, and Steve’s heart melts along with probably everyone else watching. 

“Some of you may know me as the Winter Soldier, but. That really ain’t me,” Bucky explains, something raw and sincere in his voice, his Brooklyn accent coming out as he relaxes more. “I-I mean, it _ is _me, technically, but. Really, I’m just a kid from Brooklyn, who...fought for his country and was in the wrong place, at the wrong time,” He swallow, “And I’m not going to pretend that I haven’t done things that I ain’t proud of. Terrible things. Things that...are between me and God,” Bucky chews his bottom lip briefly, collecting his thoughts. Steve’s chest squeezes at that. He knew that Bucky was religious, once following in the footsteps of his Jewish mother, but had fallen from his faith through the terrible things he endured. Seeing him open up about something deeply personal to the public eye made Steve feel so proud he wanted to cry. Bucky had come so far.

“But as Ms. Potts explained, I wasn’t in control, and I’m so glad I never have to be that man again. I’m honoured and humbled, to...to be given this second chance.” Bucky looks right into the camera and takes a deep breath. Steve feels like the words were meant for his heart only when Bucky murmurs, “And I promise, I won’t let you down.”

Cameras flash to capture the vulnerable moment on Bucky’s face. He blinks at the light, his hands twisted together tightly. 

Steve knew why he was irritated with them--the bright flash of the cameras in Bucky’s face was interrupting his ability to scan the room properly--but he was hiding it well. 

“Okay, thank you, Mr. Barnes,” Pepper interrupts politely. “We’ll now open the floor for a few questions--no follow up questions will be allowed, and we ask that you stick to one question per news source represented to give everyone a chance as we have limited time here today. Yes, there, in the red. Go ahead.” 

“Mr. Barnes,” The reporter says, standing up from his seat, “How has it been, adjusting to life as an Avenger? Has it been difficult finding your place among the team?” 

Bucky seems relieved at such a question, probably thankful it had nothing to do with Hydra. “Actually,” Bucky grins--a real smile this time, and a dazzling one at that. Steve could feel the rest of the audience at home falling in love with Bucky's natural charm the same way he had. “It was a little strange at first, y’know. A lot of my memories are from the age where technology wasn’t exactly what it is today, and Tony, as you know, is the king of technology. So he’s been teaching me the ropes, and helping me adjust in that sense,” Bucky and Tony share a grin. “But as for finding my place in the team, well--”

“Barnes fits right in,” Clint pipes up, voice raw and honest. “We’re family now.” 

The cameras flash excitedly, capturing the sweet moment where Clint and Bucky make eye contact, the brotherhood established between them in the short time they’d been working side by side evident on both of their faces. 

“Next,” Pepper directs, giving the two a fond smile of her own, “Yes, go ahead.” 

“Mr Barnes,” the next person eagerly shouts. “Is it true that before coming willingly into Avenger’s custody, you tried to run and avoid being captured? How do we know that your loyalties truly lie with America? Couldn’t you be playing the double agent card, working with the Avengers to get intel for Hydra?”

“_One _ question--” Pepper reminds harshly, but Sam cuts in. 

“If you did your research,” Sam interrupts sharply, no forgiving tone to his voice, “You’ll know that _ Sergeant _Barnes already laid down his life once for his country, so if you think for one second you have any right--”

“Thank you, Sam,” Bucky interrupts, clearing his throat again. Steve’s chest constricts. _ Pull it together, guys, _his mind chorused. They couldn’t let their personal feelings interrupt the professional image they were trying to create. 

Bucky’s metal hand clenched into a fist. “It is true that I initially ran, but. It was a complicated situation. As you all know, I was compromised, HYDRA had wiped my memories of who I was, what I stand for. It was a very confusing time, and I wasn’t sure if the Avengers wanted to lock me up forever or kill me--in that state of mind, I never imagined that anyone would ever show me forgiveness, or kindness. I was...I was barely human, at that point. Thankfully, with therapy and the help of my team, my loved ones, my memory is fully recovered. I know what I stand for.” 

“So you would lay down your life for this country?” The reporter pressed. 

“No follow ups,” Pepper reminded, but Bucky was already opening his mouth to speak. 

“Countries...governments...aren’t worth dying for,” Bucky says, his voice suddenly hard and wise. The crowd gives a low murmur of surprise. “But. People are. So, yes. I would lay down my life for the _ people _of America. It’s not a question of loyalty. I’m on this team because I have the ability to help people, and that is exactly what I want to do.” 

Steve lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding--Bucky was _ nailing _this.

“Next,” Pepper clears her throat, giving the reporters a hard eye. Steve has immense respect for her ability to command a room, perhaps better than even Tony. “And I would like to remind everyone to remain _ respectful._” 

“On a lighter note, Mr. Barnes, would you consider yourself to be romantically available? You’ve become something of a heart throb for a lot of young people,” A reporter chuckles. “The women--and men--of America are _ dying _ to know.” 

Bucky looks right into the camera, and Steve felt like Bucky was right there in the living room, staring right at him. “Uh,” He smirks, flashing a dimple that only appears sometimes. He looks heartbreaking--Steve can’t blame a single person who falls in love with Bucky. His smile said it all, it said whatever you wanted it to say. If you were Steve, he knew it said _ my heart is yours, _ but if you were any other Bucky-obsessed person, that dangerous side-smirk would scream _ try me, sugar. _

“No comment.” 

Cameras flash furiously to pick up on that smirk, and the crowd exclaims at that mysterious comment. Bucky's love life really was a matter of national interest, it seemed. Steve felt a bit flattered. 

“Thank you. Next question?” Pepper encourages, her voice warmer now that she could see Bucky was a little more at ease. 

“Sergeant Barnes--you’ve overcome a lot in your lifetime, and seen a lot. What value does your extra life experience offer this team, and how does living through a war impact the way you consider combat? What lessons did your time with Hydra offer?” 

Bucky blinks a little, taking a moment to compose his thoughts. While he does, Natasha pipes in with a cool voice. 

“Barnes is vital to this team,” She explains. “His hand to hand combat is some of the strongest I’ve ever seen. He’s a gifted sniper, and he’s...incredibly loyal. I know he’ll always have my six.” 

Bucky gives her a grateful look, and she squeezes his metal hand reassuringly. Steve could have kissed her for it, for the way her words took a bit of tension out of Bucky’s tight shoulders.

“That’s a great question,” Bucky says finally, nodding appreciatively. “So, thank you, for that. I would have to say that my life experience is really just starting. Before HYDRA, I was just beginning to learn about life and death. The war taught me a lot about...about the true evil that people are capable of,” He swallows, his brow knitting together. 

“And then when I was in Hydra’s possession, I. My life wasn’t my own. I did learn a lot, though, in hindsight. I think--the worst part about my time with HYDRA is that I couldn’t blame it on aliens, or, or outer-space, or magic,” Bucky brings his metal hand up to rest on the glass table, in full view. Cameras flash, the room is eerily silent, no chatter among the audience, everyone taken with Bucky’s reflective, calm voice. 

“The worst part, the scariest part, is that the true evil of this world...is human. The most terrible monsters in life aren’t monsters at all. They’re people.” 

There are a few more moments of silence again, after Bucky’s statement. Steve’s eyes are damp, and he was sure he likely wasn’t the only one who was deeply moved by the wise way Bucky was able to speak about his trauma, the haunting edge to his words that only hinted slightly at the torture he endured yet rattled Steve’s bones all the same.

“So I’ll never let this team underestimate Hydra,” He clears his throat, getting back on track to the question. “And I think that will be monumental in Hydra’s eventual takedown, which I hope to help facilitate very, very soon.” 

“And, being a senior citizen, Barnes gets great discounts at all the best breakfast places in town, so that’s a huge bonus,” Tony pipes up, easing the tension and giving Bucky what is probably a welcome moment to compose himself before fielding more questions. 

“Though he does get a little confused with technology sometimes,” Clint joins in. Steve sees Bucky take a few of his deep, steadying breaths, trying to ground himself. He plasters a lighthearted smile on his face for the cameras, but Steve can see how nervous he is underneath all that. “Unfortunately, he recently discovered _ emojis_, and deciphering his texts is like trying to understand hieroglyphics.” 

The crowd laughs good-naturedly.

“Alright,” Pepper says, once she can read Bucky’s face, giving her the all clear to continue. “We’ll take one last question for the morning,” Pepper advises warmly. “Yessir, you in the back?” 

“_Soldier,” _the man sneers, immediately getting Steve on the edge of his seat. Something about his voice instantly dripped with poison. “What about the blood on your hands, hmm? What about the souls you’ve eaten, the throats you’ve crushed with those fists--”

Steve’s heart dropped. Cameras flashed feverishly in the room.

"No," Bucky breathes, away from the mic, just loud enough to be heard. "No--it can't be--"

“Security!” Pepper snaps sharply, the mic squeaking at the pitch of her voice. “_Now!_” 

Two well-built security guards emerge from the back of the room, but the man is laughing, throwing his head back. “Hydra is _ forever!” _ He cries manically. “You will _ always _belong to us!”

Steve’s got a pit in his stomach. He can feel something terrible is about to happen. 

The camera cuts to Bucky shakily, who is gripping the glass table hard with his metal hand, a single crack running down it from the pressure he’s applying. Steve can see the muscle in his jaw twitch, the one that always jumps when he’s anxious or upset.

“You will _ always _ be HYDRA!” The man yells as he’s frog-marched out of the room. “You belong to _ us, _ and it’s _ time to come home, _ Soldat!” He shouts over his shoulder. 

_ How the hell did this guy get in, _Steve wonders, chewing at his bottom lip. He gets to his feet, too anxious to remain sitting.

“Ahem,” Tony clears his throat, as security struggles to remove the man. “My apologies for that interruption, but, I think we’ll wrap it up there--”

Before Tony can finish, the sound of gunshots rings out. 

The man who was tugged out of the briefing room was backed by the two security guards that once held him. Now, they flanked him on either side, holding weapons at the ready. The man who cried out originally fired a shot at the ceiling, raining debris and dust down. 

“Солдат,” The man growled, loud enough to be heard over the panic. He’s got a toothy grin on his face and a dangerous glimmer in his eyes. 

“Rumlow,” Bucky’s voice is faint amidst the chaos of the room, but as the camera pans shakily back to him, he looks terrified. Steve’s fingernails carve hard crescents into the palms of his hands. _ This can’t be happening. _

“Long time no see,” The man--Rumlow--grins in response. “So. Готовы ли вы соблюдать?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for canon-typical violence, including shooting in a public space.  
Stay safe <3


	25. nothing fucks with my baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Steve,” Bucky snaps again when Steve doesn’t move. 
> 
> “I’m not. Leaving you,” Steve pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some canon-typical violence here!! 
> 
> Enjoy :)

_Give your heart and soul to charity_   
_'Cause the rest of you, the best of you_   
_Honey, belongs to me_

_Ain't it a gentle sound, the rollin' in the graves?_   
_Ain't it like thunder under earth, the sound it makes?_   
_Ain't it exciting you, the rumble where you live?_

_Ain't you my baby?_   
_Ain't you my baby?_

_Nothing fucks with my baby_   
_Nothing can get in the kid or my baby_   
_Nothing fucks with my baby_   
_Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing_

\- NFWMB, Hozier 

* * *

“No!” Steve screams, his hands knotted in his hair, tugging at his strands. 

He _ knows _something is going on, something more than an offended reporter who didn’t trust Bucky. 

This was Hydra, they were here. 

They had come for Bucky at last. 

They’d posed as security, as reporters. Who _ knew _how many Hydra agents could be in the building, finding holes in Stark’s defences, infiltrating? 

They had come to bring their Asset back. 

Steve’s legs feel weak as the reality of the situation sinks in. “_No! Bucky! _” 

They wouldn’t be able to snap their fingers and get Bucky back. Bucky had been working with his therapist, the best one Tony’s money could buy, and they’d effectively gotten rid of the trigger in Bucky’s mind that led to his compliance with Hydra trigger phrases. In the midst of all the chaos, that, at least, was a small mercy. They didn’t have the kind of power over Bucky that they’d be expecting...but that could only mean that they would try to take Bucky forcefully.

Violently.

All of the Avengers would be fighting to protect him--Steve knew they would do their best to keep Bucky safe, but he shuddered to think about the danger they were _ all _in. Hydra wouldn’t show any mercy, Steve had learned that much about them from the files he had read and the few brief times Bucky had mentioned his time with Hydra.

The broadcast continues, Steve sees Stark morph quickly into his full Iron Man suit via a button on his wristwatch, escorting civilians out through the back doors, while Natasha and Clint work on taking down the seven Hydra men that had revealed themselves out of the crowd of reporters. 

Sam was shoving Pepper through some kind of secret back door behind the backdrop of the panel and re-emerged with tac gear, wings and all, folded neatly against his back, and Redwing buzzing at his side. 

“Please walk quickly and calmly to the rear exit,” JARVIS’s voice cuts in over the panic in the press room. “Follow the crowd to the rear exit. You will be assisted outside. Please proceed to the rear exit.”

Bucky stood on the stage, in front of the glass table, posture coiled to spring. 

The camera was getting shakier and shakier, but the person operating the camera wasn’t eager to give up the breaking footage. They kept broadcasting, and Steve kept staring, unable to look away. His mouth ran dry, his hands shaking in fists. 

Hydra was here. They had snuck in, they had tricked the Avengers, and now they were coming for Bucky. They were _ coming for Bucky. _Steve had to do something.

“Rumlow,” Bucky growls again, his voice clear. “Гори в аду.” 

The camera becomes shaky as Tony’s face gets up close and personal, “Out!” Tony urges the person operating it, “That’s an order! Evacuate! _ Out _ ! Emergency services will assess you _ outside _ of the building. Shoo!” 

Steve hears the man--Rumlow--chanting some words in Russian over the panic of the reporters as they scramble to exit. Trigger phrases, most likely. The camera pans one last time over to Bucky as he slams his metal fist into the glass table, shattering it into a million fragments. 

“No!” Bucky barked, his shoes crunching on the broken glass as he advanced towards Rumlow. There was something unrecognizable on his face. It wasn’t the Winter Soldier, exactly, not Hydra’s blank Asset, but something _ dark. _Something hungry. 

“Buck, don’t,” Steve breathes, his hands coming to his mouth. He just wanted Bucky to go to whatever safe room Pepper had gone to, to hide away while the rest of his friends took care of the threat. At least they would be able to be objective, unlike Bucky, who was clearly invested. Steve had never seen him look so terrifying. “No--”

The broadcast ends, the channel turning to static. 

Steve breathes for a few moments. 

What could he do? Call 911? Send more civilians into the fight to die? Based on what Stark had told the reporters, EMS was already outside helping reporters as they fled the scene. They wouldn’t stand a chance against Hydra anyway. Who would? 

Steve felt helpless.

The lights in the apartment turn red, emanating a threatening glow over the entire apartment, proof that Stark had told JARVIS to put the tower on lockdown. 

Lockdown wasn’t good--lockdown of the entire building--not just the floor with the conference room where Hydra first appeared--was _ very _bad. It meant that Tony had reason to believe Hydra was in other parts of the building. 

Fanning out. Searching. 

Maybe they were coming to get Steve, to use him to force Bucky’s submission. It would be, as far as plans go, a good one. 

As it stood now, Steve was sitting duck. He wouldn’t let himself be used against Bucky. He was Bucky’s weak spot, and they both knew it. 

_ “I wish I could be out there, helping you,” _Steve had told Bucky once after he’d come home a little shaken up from a mission with the rest of the team. 

Bucky had pressed a lingering kiss to Steve’s head. He pulled Steve in close and breathed him in. _ “The best thing you can do for me is to keep yourself safe. That’s all I need.” _

The words came back to Steve now, as he forces himself to be strong, to push away the fear. He’d protect Bucky by protecting himself. 

“JARVIS,” Steve says, jumping to his feet. “What’s going on in there?” 

“Hydra agents, sir,” JARVIS replies instantly. “I’m afraid there's quite a number of them, storming into the tower now.” 

“More than in the briefing room?” If so, Steve had to think quickly. This apartment would no doubt be the first place Hydra would want to go--to get Steve, to seek out Bucky’s compliance, when they realized the trigger phrases weren’t working. 

The only comfort in Steve’s panicked state was that he was pretty sure Hydra would do their absolute best to keep Bucky alive. He was, after all, their most successful project, and killing him would be a last resort. As long as Bucky was alive, there was hope. 

They could fight their way out of this. They had the whole team, they had Tony’s tower, rigged with defences for situations just like this. 

“Correct,” JARVIS replies. “I have estimated approximately eighty-seven foot soldiers are in the building with possible back up on the way,” 

He knew where Bucky kept his guns, and he ran to the closet in the back of the apartment. He shoved a knife with its holster into the waistband of his jeans and grabbed a handgun he thought he could use if he had to, small enough to handle with ease but powerful enough to offer him protection. Although he had spent countless hours in the gym training in hand-to-hand combat with Bucky, he’d spent hardly any time at all in the shooting range, so gripping the gun didn’t provide much comfort. 

Quite frankly, guns freaked Steve out. Now, though, he wished he had more confidence handling the weapon as he handled it with clammy hands.

Steve pressed his back against the wall, staring at the front door with a rigid posture. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth as Bucky had taught him. 

_ Keep thinking, Ace, don’t ever stop to panic. Always be thinking one step ahead. _

Right. Yeah. He could do that. He had to think ahead. 

Steve blinks hard. _ Focus. _“Are they coming up here? To me?” 

“It appears that way,” JARVIS tells him sharply. “I’d advise you to hide, sir. Now. You won’t have long before they locate you. I’ve put your room on lockdown but I’m afraid it won’t hold them for long, they’ve compromised my security abilities.” 

Steve knew that staying hidden was his greatest chance of survival. _Run if you can, hide if you can't, fight if you must. _

It was too late to try to get to another part of the tower. He’d have to hide, try to stay out of sight, and then fight like hell if Hydra operatives found him.

He could do this, for Bucky. He could give Bucky one less thing to worry about. The training he’d been doing, the muscle memory, the breathing. It was now or never. 

It was time.

“Okay,” Steve says, his voice completely level. He wipes his clammy palms off on his jeans and grips the gun with both hands. _ You got this, Ace, _ Bucky’s voice in his head reassures him, _ trust yourself_. “Okay, JARVIS. Let’s do this. I’ve got a plan, are you ready?” 

“Ready to help in any way possible, sir,” JARVIS replies quickly. “What is the plan?” 

***

Steve breathes quietly from his hiding place. 

“Incoming,” JARVIS tells him. “Ten seconds.”

Steve hears the footsteps just moments after JARVIS warned him that Hydra agents were on their way to him, the footfalls of heavy combat boots storming down the hall, hesitating at the door to his and Bucky’s apartment. 

“Sir,” JARVIS tells Steve, his volume level down low so as not to be detected from outside. “They’re here. I believe they’re going to shoot the door handle to force their way inside.” 

“It’s okay,” Steve reassured him slowly. He sniffles a little, and wills himself to be strong. “You know the plan?” 

“Yessir,” JARVIS replies. “Ready to assist.”

“Good. Then let’s do this.” 

Steve had locked the bathroom door and was perched a safe distance from it, the gun pointed towards the door just in case. The small embedded diamond in his ring catches the light for a quick second, and it feels like a flash of hope, like Bucky’s warm voice in his ear, _ I know you can do this, sweetheart. _

Steve rolls his shoulders back and readies his stance, preparing for the worst. 

He hears two fast gunshots and then a heavy kick against the door. Quick. Effective. They knew where they were, and they wanted inside. There was no hesitation.

The door falls with a heavy _ thud, _and Steve tries to count the pairs of boots that storm inside. At least three men, maybe four. 

“_Steven,” _a voice calls. Steve squints, trying to place it. Could it be the same voice from the TV broadcast? The man who had snuck in, the one Bucky had called ‘Rumlow’? “I know you’re in here,” 

“Yeah, I’m over here,” JARVIS plays a recording of Steve’s voice from a speaker in the kitchen, luring them further into the apartment, away from the bathroom Steve was really in. 

JARVIS had quickly recorded Steve’s voice saying a variety of different taunting phrases that would lure the Hydra agents further away from where Steve really was, as a last-ditch effort that would hopefully allow Steve to escape into the hallway and then into the emergency stairwell. It was his best chance. JARVIS had also sent out warnings to all the Avengers that Steve was safe, in the apartment, and promised Steve that if something happened to him, he wouldn’t notify the Avengers until the threat was completely diminished. He didn’t want any of his friends--and especially not Bucky--to be distracted worrying about him. 

He would be fine because that was the only option. He _ had _to be.

“It’s not you that we want, Steve,” The voice continues. It was definitely Rumlow, that slimy, taunting tone was recognizable from the one that had addressed Bucky on TV. “If you come out from wherever you’re hiding, we can do this peacefully.”

“Over here!” JARVIS plays Steve’s voice from the bedroom, at the very back of the apartment. Steve can barely hear it from his position in the bathroom near the front of the house. The boots follow the sound. It was working. 

Steve readjusts his grip in his gun, walking a little closer to the bathroom door.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…” Rumlow says in a sing-song voice. “Come on, Steve, where are ya?” 

“You’ll have to get in here if you want me!” JARVIS continues to play a recording of Steve’s voice that they had set up in the moments prior to HYDRA’s arrival in the apartment. The last recording was played from a speaker inside the en suite bedroom, just off the master, at the very back of the apartment. The door was locked with the speaker inside. 

Steve readies himself. It was almost time.

“Alright, I guess if you won’t come out, then we’ll have to come inside,” The voice sighs. Steve hears the men trying to break down the door with hard kicks. It was reinforced with a dining room chair under its handle--it should be enough to buy Steve the time he needed to get out. 

“Good luck getting in here!” JARVIS play’s Steve’s taunting message, as Steve quietly unlocks the door of the front bathroom, slipping out with the gun still gripped tightly in his right hand. 

His heart was in his throat, but he also felt oddly calm and in control. 

He could do this. He _ had _ to do this. Bucky believed in him, and he believed in himself. He was going to be okay. He was going to get to Bucky.

He creeps around the corner, his feet barely making a sound on the marble floor.

The front door is only a few feet away--if he could make it there, he could find a way to sneak down the stairwell, avoiding the elevator which would leave him cornered if someone happened to attempt to get on at another floor. 

He could get down to the ground floor and find Bucky, make sure he was alright. 

He could only pray that the other Avengers were fighting like hell to keep Bucky safe, that they hadn’t split up and left the Winter Soldier defenceless against his worst enemy.

Just as Steve is reaching for the front door handle, sweaty palms grab his neck, gripping tight and restricting his airflow.

Steve doesn’t have time to think--he relies on the rigorous training he and Bucky had been working on in their free time, the hours of training they had put in for a scenario just like this.

With his right hand still clutching the gun, he uses the butt of the weapon to reach back and clock the man hard in the head. 

It wasn’t enough to knock him unconscious, but Steve landed the blow and the man staggered back, dropping his grip. 

Steve slapped a hand over the man’s mouth and braced him upright, rearing back and kicking _ hard _with his right leg, just above the man’s knee cap, with all the force he can manage.

He hears the snap of bone, his fingers muffling the sound of the man’s scream as he drops to the floor. Steve lowers him slowly to the ground in order to stay quiet, but as soon as he moves his hands, the agent reacts, grabbing Steve’s knees to force him to the ground. Steve manages to keep a hand securely over his mouth to keep him quiet, and JARVIS helps him out by turning up the volume on the speaker in the bathroom as another recording plays: Steve’s voice saying, “Come on, you bastards! Come and get me!”

The agent struggles in his grip, not giving up. 

Steve doesn’t want to, but he doesn’t have a choice--if this guy raised the alarm that Steve was really near the front of the apartment, his plan would be ruined and he’d have no choice against three or four armed guards.

Steve grabs a fistful of the man’s hair and smashes his face hard into the marble floor. The man stops struggling, going limp. 

Steve hesitates for a moment, his heart in his throat. He watches the man’s chest with wide eyes. _ Come on, come on, _he thinks, his hands shaking. 

_ Come. On. _

The man’s chest rises and falls. 

Steve exhales quietly, relieved. Unconscious, but alive. He had applied the right amount of force. Practice had paid off.

Getting to his feet, Steve felt oddly satisfied, the man lying there at his feet. He had, in a way, proved himself--he had kept himself safe. He had fought.

He wasn’t helpless after all. 

After his brief moment of celebration, Steve turns back to the door once again. The other Hydra agents would likely soon notice that their friend was missing, so Steve had to work quickly. He had to get out of there before his plan was ruined.

With his hand on the doorknob once again, he pushes it open just a fraction, shifting his weight to his right leg in order to slip out the door when--

“Not so fast.” Another voice hums, making Steve’s muscles lock up in surprise.

When Steve turned his head, he was face to face with the barrel of a gun. 

_ Don’t freeze when someone points a gun at you, _ Bucky’s voice echoed in his head. _ That’s what they’ll expect. Run. Fight. Don’t hesitate, and don’t let them have the power. Nine times out of ten, they won’t hit something vital if you’re moving. _

Steve knew he didn’t have enough time to open the door and bolt before the assailant shot him. 

He would be an easy target if he tried that, and based on the crazed look in the man’s eyes, he didn’t doubt that shooting Steve would be a walk in the park for the Hydra operative.

Steve would have to run deeper into the apartment to get away, further trapping himself and possibly running into other Hydra foot soldiers.

Or--or he could try to knock the weapon out of the man’s hands. 

He had to try. It was his quickest way out. 

_ Think, _ he urged himself. _ Think about what you know. You’ve done drills like this before. _

Steve puts both of his hands up in a surrender sign, not breaking eye contact. “Okay. Alright, fine. You got me. I’ll come peacefully.”

“Sir! Over here!” the man yells out, looking over his shoulder. _ An opening, _Steve notes, getting ready to pounce. “I have--”

Before the man can finish his sentence, Steve uses the moment of distraction and the advantage of his arms already being in the air to come down hard on the radial nerve in the man’s forearm, causing a flash of pain (he knew because Bucky had let Steve do it to him as practice, and Bucky had nearly crumpled). 

The man buckles but manages to punch Steve in the side of the mouth, splitting his lip and causing blood to drip from it. 

Steve drops down to his knees from the force of the blow, dizzy. He interlocks his fingers around the man’s knee and tugs hard, throwing the guy off balance and forcing him to the ground. 

The man drops the gun in a bid to catch himself, and Steve uses the opportunity to push the man’s hands away from his face and undercut him _ hard _with the heel of his hand as Steve gets to his feet, snapping the man’s nose and causing a spray of blood into his eyes.

For good measure, Steve knees him in the stomach twice in quick succession, and the man drops heavily to the ground like a sack of potatoes. 

The adrenaline was making Steve dizzy (or maybe it was the fact that he just got punched in the face). He had dropped two Hydra agents, on his _ own_. He had gotten the upper hand on highly trained Hydra operatives, who were prepared and armed. 

The hours he’d spent in the gym, admiring Bucky’s technique (and his physic, let’s be honest) had paid off. 

He felt _ strong. _

Finally feeling like he had the chance to sneak out, Steve reaches for the apartment door just as it swings open. 

Steve clicks the safety _ off _of his gun with a fluid motion and holds it up to the man who had just entered. His hand doesn’t shake.

“Steve,” Bucky gasps, pausing in the threshold, taking in Steve’s split lip, the cut at his temple from his struggles. Steve lowered his armed hand in relief, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. 

Bucky grabs Steve’s chin, turning his head left and right methodically, quickly scanning for injuries. 

“Bucky. M’fine,” Steve swallows. “Hey, I’m okay. Are you--”

“I’m okay, sweetheart,” Bucky sweeps his thumb across Steve’s cheekbone and gives him a quick kiss on the forehead. “I’m alright. Let’s get you somewhere safe. They’re looking for us.”

Bucky had a few knicks of his own, but true to his word, he did look otherwise alright, his suit a little dirtied and ripped, if anything. His hair was falling out of the bun Steve had helped him with, but he wasn’t limping or cradling any obvious injury, and his voice was strong when he spoke. He had lost the blue suit jacket somewhere apparently and sported just the white undershirt, which was torn in some places and bloodied in others, but. Steve didn’t think the blood belonged to Bucky, at least not in large.

Steve felt a lot safer than he had ten minutes ago. 

Bucky was here, Steve had defeated two of their enemies alone. 

They were going to be fine. They would fight together, side by side. A team.

“The others?” Steve confirms, “Is everyone...?”

“Everyone is fine,” Bucky promises. He looks Steve over once again like he couldn’t quite believe he was all in one piece. “Thank _ god _ you’re okay, doll. I was so fuckin’ worried. Rumlow was on his way up here, to you. Have you seen--”

“Hey, _ Bucko,” _a man from behind Steve spits. Before Steve can react, too focused on taking in Bucky’s injuries, an arm snakes an arm around Steve’s chest and presses Steve’s back to his front. Steve feels the cool barrel of a gun pressed securely to his temple. 

Steve should be afraid. 

He isn’t.

“Rumlow.” Bucky though...Bucky looks afraid. Bucky looks--he looks _ terrified. _

If he hadn’t been so taken aback, Bucky would have been able to react faster, snatch Steve away the second he felt a disturbance in the air. But Bucky wasn’t on his game, not now. 

Bucky’s hands curled into tight fists. 

Steve searched his memories for the name “Rumlow”, trying to understand the pure terror on Bucky’s face, and suddenly, it hit him. 

Rumlow. _ Brock Rumlow. _

The files. 

Rumlow was Bucky’s main handler, responsible for hours, _ years, _ of Bucky’s torture, his memory loss, his abuse. His scars. 

His name had been in the files that Bucky had made Steve read. His name had been on Bucky’s lips when he woke up screaming from a nightmare. Rumlow--the monster that Bucky was most afraid of, now holding a gun to the head of the man he loved most. 

Steve’s stomach fills with dread.

“We’ve missed you, Soldier,” Rumlow hisses. “Time to come home.” He squeezes Steve a little tighter and Steve coughs, the cold he’d been getting over still lingering in his chest.

“He’s not going _ anywhere _with you,” Steve spits, tugging a little, testing Rumlow’s grip. It was tight and unrelenting and was no doubt pressing deep bruises into Steve’s arms.

“Let him go, Rumlow,” Bucky warns, “He has nothing to do with this. This is between you and me.” 

“He’s yours, isn’t he?” Rumlow growls, gripping Steve harder to emphasize his point. _ He _ was in control, not Bucky--what he was trying to get across was abundantly clear. “So actually, Soldier, he’s got _ everything _to do with this.” 

“Please,” Bucky swallows, the threatening tone in his voice wavering, giving way to desperation. Steve tries to meet his eyes, but Bucky won’t take his gaze off of Rumlow and the gun. Steve knows exactly what he’s thinking--that Rumlow would do it just for fun, just to see Bucky fall to his knees and howl, just to break his spirit, to bring the Asset back. “Don’t hurt him.” 

“Look at you,” Rumlow says, his voice dripping in disgust. “You’ve gotten _ weak_,” He spits, the wetness of his words splattering on Steve’s neck and ear as his lips brush Steve’s exposed neck. Steve shudders. “I can see why you like him, though. Pretty little thing. Must be a real _ slut _in bed if he can handle you, Soldier. He must open up so much for you, hmm? And it must be a thrill, knowing you could break him so easily...” 

“Steve,” Bucky pleads, his eyes wide and wet. He looks like a terrified little boy, and Steve’s heart is _ breaking. _

_ “Don’t,” _Steve growls, with as much heat as he can manage through the tears that were beginning to well up, afraid of what Bucky might do. 

Bucky won’t meet his eyes. “I’ll find a way back to you.”

“Buck,” Steve snaps, trying to get Bucky to look at him. “Don’t. Don’t do anything stupid.” He wouldn’t let Bucky do this. He would die before he lost Bucky to Hydra again.

“Rumlow,” Bucky clears his throat. Steve notices that Bucky shifts his weight ever-so-slightly onto his right foot, bracing himself forward. 

Ready to attack. Hope swells in Steve’s chest.

Bucky wasn’t giving up after all; Steve could ready Bucky’s body language like a book. Bucky was going to fight, and he needed Steve to see that. Steve got the message. 

He lifts his chin a little higher. A slight nod, barely noticeable to anyone who didn’t know Steve as well as Bucky did. 

“It’s me you want, not him. I’ll come willingly if you let him walk away.” 

“Well, I don’t know, two for one sounds like a good deal,” Rumlow chuckles. “What do you think? Вы готовы подчиняться?” 

“Bucky, no,” Steve pleads, playing along. He struggles a little against Rumlow, distracting him ever so slightly by having to keep readjusting his grip on Steve to keep the smaller man from slipping away.

“Готовы соблюдать,” Bucky answers robotically. His posture tightens, waiting to pounce. “If you let him go.” 

Rumlow hesitates for a moment, and then nods. “Fine. I’ll let you keep him. Aren’t I generous? He can be your reward for missions well done. I think it would be good to have a little _ toy _ to help you blow off steam.” Rumlow grins, all teeth. 

Steve’s mouth is dry and thick with blood. He wants to spit in Rumlow’s face. 

“Солдат,” Rumlow snaps. “Время идти.” 

Bucky nods once, stiffly, and puts a hand on the door, twisting the knob as if he were about to open the door. 

As Bucky is about to push the door open, he nods once to Steve. It was a slight twitch of the head, nothing anyone would be able to misread--but they’d discussed this. 

They had _ planned _for the just-in-case. 

Steve moves.

He crashes his elbow down _ hard _into Rumlow’s stomach, and it’s enough to make the man flinch, loosening his grip enough for Steve to free himself. 

Rumlow is quick, though, and he punches Steve in the stomach with enough force that Steve drops to the ground, the wind knocked out of him and his ribs definitely bruised or even fractured.

Bucky moves around Steve seamlessly, filling the gaps in the air Steve made, sucker-punching Rumlow straight in the nose with a satisfying crunch. 

“Steve?” Bucky barks, trying to confirm that Steve was okay.

Steve tries to answer but he’s gasping for air, pain flooding his system as he tries to get to his feet. “Gah,” He manages to wheeze out. “Fine.”

“If you _ ever _threaten him again,” Bucky growls, wrapping his metal hand tight around Rumlow’s throat, pinning him up high against the wall. His feet scrabble for purchase, his eyes bulging out of his head. Bucky looks like it's hardly a struggle to hold him up. “On second thought--if I just kill you now, you’ll never get the chance. So,” Bucky grins, blood in his teeth. He looks dangerous. If Steve didn't know him, he would be afraid of that feral look. 

“Buck,” Steve pants, still struggling to get his breath, “He. He has intel. Should keep him alive. For interrogation. Hydra is bigger...than just him.” 

Bucky squints at Steve, obviously registering that Steve’s breathing wasn’t where it should be. Steve hunches over, bracing himself on his knees. 

“I’m _ fine,” _he insists before Bucky can ask. But it’s too late, Bucky had a break in concentration, and Rumlow uses it to kick Bucky hard in the stomach, making Bucky’s metal fingers flinch just enough for Rumlow to kick his way free. 

Bucky is pissed, though, and he’s fast. He manages to land a hit on Rumlow’s jaw, though his second punch is deflected. Rumlow grabs another gun that had been stored somewhere in his tac gear and flicks the safety _ off. _

Without hesitation, Rumlow shoots.

Bucky catches the metal bullet in his hand, deflecting it back at Rumlow. Rumlow ducks just in time, and the bullet embeds itself in the drywall, debris raining down around it.

It became clear, then. Steve knew that Rumlow would kill both him and Bucky if he had to--the fact that he had shot at them had proved that.

If that’s what it took for him to get away, getting Bucky back to HYDRA wasn’t more important than Rumlow’s own life, he’d rather see them dead than die himself. 

In this case, the cause _ wasn’t _more important, unlike most Hydra agents. 

That was good--they could use that. 

“Steve, get out of here,” Bucky urges, his voice a dangerous growl that Steve didn’t know if he had ever heard. Bucky was in fight mode, and it looked like he was winning. He had something dark and hungry in his face that would have chilled Steve to the bone if he wasn’t so familiar with Bucky. 

Bucky clearly had the upper hand, but Rumlow also evidently knew Bucky’s fighting style. He was watchful, waiting for openings in Bucky’s defence and striking hard when he saw them.

“Don’t you miss me, soldier?” Rumlow grunts between blows. Watching the two of them fighting was mesmerizing, it was like a dance, all happening so quickly it was difficult to trace with the eye. “Remember the fun we had together?”

“Shut. Up.” Bucky smashes Rumlow's head into the wall, but Rumlow bounces back quickly, managing a few strikes of his own. 

“I’ve got a chair with your name on it,” Rumlow promises darkly. “Ready to take away every single memory you’ve made since leaving.” 

Bucky shouts something in Russian and pulls a knife from the waistband of his dress pants. Steve should have known better--Bucky doesn’t go _ anywhere _without at least one weapon, and usually, he had a few on his person, even if he was just going to the grocery store. Bucky handles the knife with such grace and confidence it makes Steve’s eyes widen. He flips it in the air with ease between his metal fingers and swipes it across Rumlow’s neck. 

He only scrapes the surface, because Rumlow jumps back just in time, but the little red line of blood that formed there gave Steve hope. 

_ If they bleed, you can kill them, it doesn't matter the upper hand they have. _

“_Steve_,” Bucky snaps again when Steve doesn’t move. "Go." 

“I’m not. Leaving you,” Steve pants, black spots dancing in front of his vision. “JARVIS--backup?” 

“The other Avengers are otherwise occupied, I’m afraid,” JARVIS replies regretfully. “I will inform Mr. Stark of your request and send backup as it becomes available.” 

“Is everyone. Okay?” Steve coughs. His heart couldn't handle worrying about so many people at once. 

“No casualties for the team thus far,” JARVIS tells him carefully. _Thus far. _

Okay. Everyone was fine, and they would come help when they could. That was good. That had to count for something. 

Steve had to do something to help--he couldn’t just stand by and watch the man who had haunted Bucky’s nightmares draw blood from him once again, not after everything he’d already done to Bucky.

One of the Hydra agents that Steve had dropped earlier was groaning, slowly starting to come to. He was twitching a little, his eyes just beginning to blink open. 

With a wince of sympathy, Steve scrambled over to him and dug his hands into the man’s broken leg, causing him to growl and reach for Steve’s throat. 

“Hey! I’m going to fucking _ kill _you, you scrawny little piece of shit--” The man hissed, reaching clumsily for Steve. 

“Oh yeah?” Steve grunts, breathing through his own pain to focus on the task at hand. “Doesn’t look like you can get too far with that. That bum leg,” He wheezes a little, his ribs still aching.

The man grabs Steve’s shirt and hauls him close, adrenaline and anger written all over his face, until their faces are just inches apart. Steve thinks for a moment that the man is going to spit in his face, but instead, he headbutts Steve, effectively causing an explosion of pain in Steve’s forehead. 

“Bastard,” Steve curses, the room spinning.

Steve feels a lot less guilty after that. He twists the man’s leg by the ankle until he passes out from the pain, grinding his teeth until he saw the man’s head hit the floor, his body going limp. 

Problem solved. 

Once the agent is unconscious once again, Steve reaches into the pockets of his gear until he felt what he was looking for. Pulling the knife out, he unsheathed it, holding the blade in his hand and feeling the weight, the angle of it. 

His head was pounding but he had to focus. 

They had practiced this almost as much as their other drills--Bucky _ loved _his knives, and he’d wanted Steve to get comfortable with them, too, especially since Steve had pretty much refused to handle a gun. 

Getting to his feet was problematic. He was dizzy from the blow and his ribs were aching, he would be too slow to his feet. But if he could hurt Rumlow from a distance, Bucky would be able to finish the job. Steve just needed to create an opening, a hitch in Rumlow’s pattern of offence, to make Bucky see that he _ could _defeat his worst nightmare. 

Bucky was stronger and faster than Rumlow, there was no reason the Hydra handler should have the upper hand. 

Bucky’s fear was holding him back.

Steve could be strong enough for them both.

Steve gripped the knife, flipping it in his hands a few times, analyzing Rumlow’s positions, his movement, Bucky’s posture compared to Rumlow’s. If he was going to do this, he couldn’t miss. 

As Steve winds back for the throw, Rumlow grabs Bucky’s throat with a white-knuckled fist, Bucky’s face going quickly red from the lack of oxygen, not pushing Rumlow off fast enough like he didn’t have the strength to fight him anymore. 

Steve saw his opening. 

With a deep, centering breath and a silent prayer, Steve flicks his wrist and the knife soared through the air.

To Steve’s delight, it embeds itself into the vulnerable stretch of skin on Rumlow’s wrist, the same hand that was holding Bucky’s throat, exactly where he'd been aiming. He feels a strong surge of pride. 

Rumlow curses in pain and releases his grip like he’d been burned, cradling the injury with a string of Russian words that didn’t sound too kind. 

Bucky gasped for breath, looking with wide eyes between Rumlow and Steve, who was frozen with his hand still poised in the air, fingers frozen in the position they’d released the knife in. 

Steve’s own jaw was hanging open in disbelief--did he really just do that? 

Did he just _ throw a knife at someone? And hit them? Deliberately? Successfully? _

“You’ll fucking pay for that you whore,” Rumlow yanks the knife out and blood gushes freely from the wound, though Steve is almost positive he didn’t hit an artery. “I’m going to snap that pretty little neck--” Rumlow charges at Steve. 

Steve grounds his posture, getting ready for the attack, but Bucky lets out a growl that is nearly feral, and he throws Rumlow to the ground with an easy toss, as if he were just throwing an old t-shirt aside. 

Rumlow hits the wall with a sick _ thump _and slides down it like a limp doll. 

“Shut up,” Bucky hisses, standing in front of Steve, the bulk of him blocking Steve’s view of Rumlow. “You’re _ nothing.” _

“Last chance, солдат,” Rumlow coughs, his voice sounding significantly weaker. “Either you agree to come with me, to serve Hydra as you _ should, _or I’ll end you and your little toy right here where you stand.”

“You’re in no position to be making threats, Rumlow,” Bucky rumbles, towering over his former captor. “I’ll offer you the mercy of your life if you agree to tell the Avengers everything you know.” It was a brave offer, as far as offers go. Steve knew how much strength it took for Bucky to agree to keep his attacker alive. 

There was a whirring sound coming from the arm that Steve hadn’t heard before. 

It sounded like more than the plates just readjusting, and it was getting increasingly loud. It would be a very bad time for the arm to malfunction. 

“Buck?” Steve tries to draw his attention to the arm, but Bucky is zoned in completely on Rumlow, his posture crouched to spring, his breathing deep and even, ready to attack at a second’s notice. 

“Stand down, Soldier,” Rumlow hisses. “Last chance. Or you’ll regret it.” 

“Why don’t you just shoot me, Rumlow? D’you like having the shit kicked out of you?” Bucky grunts, landing an easy roundhouse kick, nailing Rumlow in the neck, sending him stumbling back, gasping for air. 

Bucky raises a good question. Rumlow had a gun. Why _ hadn’t _he just shot Bucky? Something didn’t seem right. Steve’s stomach churned with unease as he tried to think through the fog of pain that was pulsing through his head and abdomen.

“You’re gonna...die,” Rumlow wheezes. “Let me walk away. And I’ll let you live.” 

“I’m not letting you walk away,” Bucky promises darkly. “You’re coming with us, we are going to use everything you know to take Hydra down for _ good.” _

“Hydra is so much more than you realize,” Rumlow chuckles. “It’s bigger than you and I.”

Steve squints at that. Before, he had been convinced that Rumlow valued his own life more than he cared for Hydra’s greater cause, but now he can see that he was wrong. Rumlow wouldn’t let himself be taken alive--at least, Steve didn’t suppose, from that wild look in his eyes. 

“Buck, something isn’t right,” Steve warns, watching the confident look in Rumlow’s eyes. For a man who was barely able to breathe he still looked incredibly smug, like he knew for a fact he was going to get his way, no matter what. He knew something they didn't. 

The arm whirred. 

“You’re right. Something is up. Get the hell out of here,” Bucky shouts, looking between Rumlow and Steve, his eyes increasingly panicked. “_Now.” _

“I’m not,” Steve wheezes, coughing weakly and then whimpering with the pain the cough causes, “Not gonna leave you.” He had left Bucky before, had walked away when it counted. He wouldn't make that mistake again. Whatever was next, they'd face it together. 

Bucky’s metal arm continues to whirr, the sound getting more urgent, becoming even louder. 

Bucky glares down at it and then back to Rumlow, trying to put the pieces together.

Steve coughs wetly into his arm, his throat closing up around each breath--he feared his lung had collapsed.

_ What did the plans in the file show? The blueprint of Bucky’s arm...Stark had mentioned something-- _

“_Steve,” _Bucky snaps, a dangerous edge to his voice. “I’m not asking. Get. Out.”

“No, I think--I think he should stay,” Rumlow rasps. When he smiled, his teeth looked sharp. “I think it’s poetic, all of us, dying together.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bucky spits, grabbing Rumlow’s throat again. “You think you’re going to kill me? You think I’m going to let you get _ close _to Steve again? I’m not afraid of you anymore, Rumlow. If you won’t come with us then I’m going to crush your skull with the hand you gave me.”

“You’re right. Hydra gave you that arm,” Rumlow wheezed again. “And now it will be your death. If I’m going to die,_ ” _ Rumlow coughs, “Then you’re coming with me. See you in hell, солдат.” 

Rumlow reaches for something in his pocket. Steve connects the dots. Stark had mentioned that the arm had certain triggers, triggers that could administer sedative remotely, that could inject Bucky with a tracker, and--and Stark even feared that there may be one with a self-destruct button.

_ No. _Steve drops to his knees. The pieces fell into place.

_ “Bucky!” _ Steve screams, using all the air in his lungs to break through Bucky’s haze of rage and fear. _ “Your arm! _ Bucky, get your arm _ off!” _

The whirring gets louder and louder, as Bucky glares down at it with horrified eyes, finally connecting the same dots that Steve had. 

He looks a little unsure--but he didn’t hesitate to rip off his suit jacket and dress shirt, leaving them in a tattered pile. 

With his flesh hand, he reaches around to push into the plates where his metal arm is connected to his flesh shoulder

“I-I can’t get it,” Bucky pants, sweat dripping down his forehead. His fingers scrabbled at his shoulder, getting more and more desperate as he tried. It looks like it really hurts. “Steve--please, fuckin’ get out of here, it’s going to blow, it’s--” Bucky grunts in frustration--or maybe it’s pain--as he tries desperately to pull the arm from its socket.

Steve had never asked him if it hurt to take the arm off--and Bucky had never removed it while he’d known Steve--but now, the answer was obvious. Bucky was panting and shuddering with each panicked movement, the hurt evident on his face as his fingers scrabbled for purchase. 

There wasn’t any time. 

Steve rushed to Bucky, finding the trigger by some miracle and pressing down firmly with his fingers. Just seconds after Rumlow had grinned, the metal arm detached with a sickening _ click. _

Bucky threw it far into the apartment with his flesh hand. 

Rumlow begins laughing, throwing his head back. It's a sick, gurgling sound. 

“Steve, _go_,” Bucky staggers, off-balance from losing the weight of his arm, as he tries to usher Steve out the door, pushing him roughly with his right hand, trying to put as much distance between Steve and the arm as possible. 

They stumbled towards the door as quickly as they could but it wasn’t fast enough. 

Steve knew, with a sinking feeling, that it wasn’t. 

The whirring stops, leaving an eerie silence, with no sound but Rumlow’s gurgling laughter, as he tries to chuckle around the blood in his mouth. 

“Buck,” Steve coughs. “_Get down!_” 

Bucky throws himself on top of Steve, shielding his body with Bucky’s own. He presses one of Steve’s ears against his chest and covers the other with his right hand, clearly trying to save Steve’s eardrums. 

“I’m so sorry,” Bucky whispers, in the few seconds of anticipation. “Steve, I--”

But it was too late. 

The world around them explodes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close to the end :(  
Thoughts? Things you'd like to see our boys do before this verse wraps up? 
> 
> Hope you're all staying safe :-)


	26. hold on, I still need you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the explosion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: please see the end of the chapter notes for warnings about this chapter & chapter summary 
> 
> Stay safe & take care of yourselves <3

_Hold on, I still want you_   
_Come back, I still need you_   
_Let me take your hand, I'll make it right_   
_I swear to love you all my life_   
_Hold on, I still need you_

_A long endless highway, you're silent beside me_   
_Drivin' a nightmare I can't escape from_   
_Helplessly praying, the light isn't fadin'_   
_Hiding the shock and the chill in my bones_

_They took you away on a table_   
_I pace back and forth as you lay still_   
_They pull you in to feel your heartbeat_   
_Can you hear me screaming, "Please don't leave me"_

_ \-- "Hold on" _Chord Overstreet 

* * *

_ As a child, Steve never understood why so many bad things happened to such good people. _

“He’s not--he’s not breathing. He’s _ not breathing, _ do you hear me? Get help, Sam, _ now _!” 

_ His mother--her kind eyes, her hands that were never around long enough to get the kind of wrinkles that Peggy’s have--the way she held a paintbrush. _

_ She moved like air around every room. She rearranged every sunbeam so it kissed her face just right. She had golden hair, a golden smile. _

_ Steve’s chest hurt--it hurt _ bad. _ The pain made it hard to breathe. Nothing should hurt, here, but he can’t breathe. He should be able to breathe. _

“That’s it, baby, breathe for me. Fight, Stevie. C’mon. C’mon, sweetheart, don’t give up--I’ve got you. I’m right with you, you hear me?”

_ Sarah Rogers married a drunk. Maybe he loved her once, before the whiskey, but he was a cruel man with big hands and a voice like thunder. _

_ Steve didn’t think he would ever be in love...but did it matter, now? _

_ Did anything? His ears buzzed. Hummed. _

_ Background noise, the singing of the angels... _

“No. No, _ no, _ this isn’t happening. Steve, open your _ damn eyes--” _

“Barnes! Let’s go! Keep moving, we’ve got to get him to--”

“He’s not--he’s _ not _ breathing--”

_ Steve pushed the pain away. He didn’t want to think about the hurt anymore. He didn’t want to let it in. _

“We’re almost there. Do you want me to take him?” 

“He’s _ not breathing-- _ I--I don’t feel a pulse, Sam-- _ ” _

_ Sarah Rogers slept in late on days she probably shouldn’t have. She was even more stubborn than her son. She threw things when she got mad. She loved and lived fiercely. She was clumsy, in a graceful kind of way. _

_ She was human. Larger than life, but human. _

_ Eventually cancer hollowed out the cheeks that Steve pressed kisses upon. _

“You’re not gone, Steve, you are _ not _ gone, you _ stay with me, _or I swear, I’ll--I’ll kill you!” 

_ Eventually, the worst thing happened to the best person. Like the stars, Sarah Rogers’ light lasted for a little while after she died, but ultimately, faded away into the unforgiving night. _

“He’s choking on his own blood, he’s got internal injures, looks like a pneumothorax--”

_ Steve felt warm. He felt peaceful. He would see her again--he would hold her young hands. He could fade, too. It would be easy. _

_ Giving up is always easy. _

“Don’t you _ dare _ give up! Keep breathing, you little punk, you don’t get to leave me like this--hey! I said _ keep fighting! _”

“Put him down, Barnes!”

“Sir, we need to intubate, you need to leave the room--”

“_ f you try to pull me away from him I will shoot you. _ I’m stayin’--you hear that, sweetheart? I’m not leaving you, a-and you don’t get to leave _ me _ , either. I _ know _you can hear me, kitten--” 

“Mr. Barnes, you’re hurt, you should see a doctor--”

“I’m _ fine. _I need to be here. He needs me.”

_ Steve didn’t like bullies. He didn’t like the helpless feeling that crept into his bones when he sat beside his mother’s hospital cot. He didn’t like the pity in the doctor’s faces, the acceptance in his mother’s eyes. She had given up long before the fight was really over. Steve hated that about her final days. He still had hope. Perhaps it was futile but it felt like something to hold on to. _

_ Was there hope now? Could the sunshine again? Could spring light up his eyes? _

“Fight for us, Ace, you promised you would. Stevie, don’t give up on me. I’m here, I ain’t gonna leave you.”

_ Fight? _

_ Steve was a fighter every bit as much as he was a lover. That voice, the desperation in it...he was choking? Crying. The angel was sobbing. The angel wanted Steve to fight. _ _   
_“Mr. Rogers--Steven? Can you hear me…? No. I can’t find a pulse. He’s fading.” 

“Get the crash cart!” 

“Steve! Come on, Steve, come on...clear!”

“Clear!”

“I know I let you down. I said I wouldn’t, and I did, but. I’ll be better, Stevie, I _ will _. If-if you just fuckin’ live I swear to god--”

_ He wanted to believe in God again. He wanted to see the orchid in Peggy’s windowsill and feel the brush of New York spring on his skin. He wanted the thrill of kissing Bucky deep and slow, of lying in his arms for hours while the world around them spins on. _

_ He had to fight. He had to _ stay _ . _

“....Pulse. We’ve got him, we’ve got him...welcome back, Mr. Rogers. You’re going to stay with us, now. We need to get him into surgery.”

“That’s it, Stevie, just keep breathing. You’re so strong, Stevie, baby, so strong. You’re a fighter, I knew you were,” his angel praises him. “I’ve got you. You’re safe, now. No one's ever gonna hurt you again.”

_ Steve opened his fists and let go of his mother’s hand. He unfurls. He turns his face to the sun and plants his feet. _

_ Sarah Rogers taught him that some things in life were worth the pain. Some things had to hurt before you could get to the good part. _

_ Steve lets the pain in, the searing, white-hot ache of his chest, the ringing in his ears, wet, sticky blood covering his cheek and gurgling up in his throat. He was drowning, drowning in his own blood, from the inside out-- _

“У меня есть ты,” _ his angel sobs, _“Прости меня.”

***

Sam tries to visit the hospital room, to give Barnes a break, but each time he does the air in the room is tense and Bucky refuses to leave Steve’s side, watching protectively every time a nurse or doctor comes in to check on him. 

“Barnes,” Sam murmurs on the fifth day of Steve’s medically-induced coma. “He’s not waking up today. You should go home,” _ eat something. Sleep. Shower. _Bucky’s hair and eyes were wild. 

Bucky meets his eyes with an affronted expression. “I can’t _ leave _him,” He scoffs, like the idea was ridiculous. “Or did you forget the time that Hydra stormed in here, posed as people we thought we could trust, and put him in this damn situation to behind with?”

It made sense, then, the glaring, the suspicion. Bucky’s trust had been betrayed--he’d let his guard down and Steve had gotten hurt for it. There was no way he’d be leaving Steve’s side anytime soon.

“I can stay with him until you get back,” Sam offers, but he knows it futile. 

“Thank you,” Bucky says shortly. “But. I told him_ I_ would stay,” he looks back to Steve’s sleeping body, covered in cuts and bruises. “I have to stay.”

“Okay,” Sam backs down. He wasn’t stupid enough to push a broken man. “I’m going to get something to eat, do you want anything?” 

“Not hungry,” Bucky replied, not looking away from Steve to answer Sam. “Thanks.”

“Yeah. No problem. Just--take it easy, alright?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. It sounds like a lie. “I will.”

As Sam backs out of the room, he sees Bucky shudder, burying his face in his hand and letting out a long, shaking breath. He may be sobbing, Sam wasn’t sure.

As he’s leaving, a nurse brushes in, passing Sam in the hallway. 

“Hey, ma’am?” Sam catches her carefully by the wrist. “You headed in room 383?” 

“That’s the one,” She chuckles. She has kind eyes, an aged face. “If Mr. Barnes lets me past him to get to Mr. Rogers. He’s pretty protective, that one.”

Sam purses his lips. “Go easy on them,” he pleads sincerely. “Bucky has been through a lot.” 

Her eyes soften and she pats Sam on the shoulder. “You’re right, dear. I wasn’t in the building at the time, but I heard what happened--it’s horrible. I’ll be patient with Mr. Barnes.” The nurse tilts her head, offering something of a sad smile. “I think we all have someone we’d rather die than lose.”

She slides into the room. Bucky gets to his feet as she does, and stays close to Steve’s side, keeping the hospital cot within arms reach as she conducts her checks and tests.

“Is he still doing that growly thing?” Clint’s voice startles Sam as the man slides beside him. 

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. Bucky doesn’t sit down again until the nurse leaves the room, and once she does, he checks all of Steve’s injuries once again. 

“That attack really scared him, huh?” Clint murmured, his voice thick with empathy. “Took us all by surprise.”

Sam shoves his hands deep in his pockets. Bucky Barnes had endured a lot in his long, long life, but he had never lost Steve Rogers before. Those few minutes where Bucky cradled Steve’s limp body to his with one arm, while Steve’s lips turned pale blue...that was the most inhuman Sam has ever seen a man. That crazed, feral look in Bucky’s eyes was terrifying, like staring into a bottomless pit. Bucky saw nothing for himself if Steve wasn’t around, and Sam had understood that philosophy enduring those torturous few minutes where they just pleaded with Steve to breathe.

"This...This is going to take him a while to come back from,” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck in a futile attempt to release some of the tension there.

Clint frowns. “Steve is going to be fine, Sam--”

Sam shakes his head, watching Bucky’s tense posture, the way he wouldn’t let his eyes rest, scanning the room constantly, his firsts curling and then opening again. “I know that,” he swallows, his heart going out to Bucky. “I wasn’t talking about Steve.” 

***

“Hey, Barnes--look, I think he’s waking up.” 

“No, I don’t think...Stevie?” 

“He was twitching just a moment ago, I swear…” 

“S’probably nothing. Nurses said it could still be a few more days ‘til he comes to. At least he’s breathing on his own now, though. I hated seein’ him with that damn tube--”

Steve comes to with a gasp, bolting upright out of habit and then immediately regretting it as pain sears through his abdomen and chest. Bright light floods his vision as he blinks fast, trying to get a sense of his surroundings. 

He’s got tubes and wires coming out of him, what feels like an open wound in his abdomen, and a headache that would make him cry on a normal day. He didn’t have his glasses, but he was pretty sure this was the medical wing of the Avenger’s tower. 

“Stevie--you’re awake,” Bucky’s voice, rough but delighted, comes from the other side of the room. Steve’s eyes squint in his direction, trying to focus, but the room is a blur of colours. Where was Bucky? Where was _ he? _“Hey, hey, you’re okay. You’re alright, Steve, breathe. You’re okay. You’re in the medical bay, in the tower. You’re safe.”

“Rumlow--”

“Is dead,” Bucky promises. 

“But--”

“Hold on, Stark--hey, just. Give me a minute,” Bucky urges, his voice coming from somewhere to the left side of the room. 

Tony was here, too? 

“Yeah, I’m here. He wouldn’t let me work on him anywhere else,” Tony replies. Steve hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud. His figure steps out of view. “I’ll give you two a minute.”

“Hey. Here you go, Ace,” Bucky murmurs, sliding Steve’s glasses onto his face, settling them gently against Steve’s bruised nose. “You don’t gotta worry ‘bout Hydra right now--you’re safe.” 

Bucky comes into view then--and he looks….fine? 

No cuts or scratches on his face, no split lip, no limp in his step. He was shirtless, wearing black jeans, and his chest was free of any marks. Once Steve was able to acknowledge that they were both safe, his attention was quickly directed to the hurt in his chest, the wheezing of his lungs, and the general ache of his body. 

Bucky frowns. “Steve?”

“Hurts,” Steve manages to grit out through clenched teeth. Now that he let himself be aware of his injuries, he was in a lot of pain, his chest on fire, his limbs rigid with the force of it.

Bucky’s eyes widen as he realizes, and his hand reaches out in a flash to press the morphine button, as the drip starts up again. Within a few minutes, Steve is able to breathe a bit easier.

“Better?” 

Steve nods slightly, his muscles slowly relaxing as he’s able to focus more on his situation rather than the pain. He takes in Bucky’s appearance again, trying to remember the scratches and wounds he’d had the last time they’d seen each other. How long had Steve been out? 

“Eleven and a half days,” Bucky murmurs, his flesh hand coming to stroke Steve’s cheek gently. Bucky winced when Steve did. A bit delirious from the drugs, Steve wasn’t sure what he was saying out loud and what he was internalizing. “Sorry, Stevie. You’re still..a bit bruised.” 

“What happened?” Steve demands weakly, trying to put together what he was being told. “What the hell _ happened? _ I...eleven _ days?” _

“And a half,” Bucky sighs, running a hand back through his hair. “I don’t know how much you can remember right now, but. You--You saved our lives.”

Steve squints, not following. Thinking back on what he last remembered would take too much concentration.

“You saved us, sweetheart,” Bucky repeats. “You realized--before me, before anyone--that my arm was going to blow up. You realized that HYDRA had always had a backup plan, if I ever went rogue,” Bucky swallowed. “If you hadn’t warned me in time, I would have blown up into a million little pieces... and you probably would have blown up with me.” 

The arm. Rumlow. The panic, the whirring--the _ explosion. _ Steve remembered _ pain, _like he’d never felt before, he remembered the rain of fire burning him everywhere it touched and Bucky trying to tuck Steve under him, trying to be the human shield Steve didn’t deserve. 

He remembered Bucky’s arm, the flesh one, tucking his injured body close and tugging him away from the fire into the sun, begging him to fight. Steve remembered the conscious choice to _ stay. _

For Bucky, for all of his friends. 

For himself.

“How did we get out of the apartment?” Steve presses. “All I remember is--is _ fire,” _

“It was ugly,” Bucky agrees quietly. “I jumped on you right before the explosion but you still got hit with some shrapnel from the arm, as did I. I healed quickly, though...” Bucky grimaces, clearly not telling Steve some ugly part of that story. “...and then when the dust settled and I realized I was alive, I picked you up with my right arm. The damage to the tower wasn’t too bad, actually, all things considered, so I was able to get away down through the stairs to get you to the medical wing, and JARVIS was able to notify the others about what happened. Sam got there first....” Bucky trails off, swallowing. “Anyway. We got you here in time. Just in time.” 

Steve takes a minute to process that, the memories blinking through his mind like flashcards. “What aren’t you telling me? Are you hurt?”

“No,” Bucky says, and Steve can tell he’s being honest. “Not anymore.”

“But you _ were._”

“I healed up just fine within a few days,” Bucky sighs. “But for you...it was,” He shudders visibly, his eyes going somewhere far away, like when he talked to Steve about his time with Hydra. “It was touch and go there, for a while. You just--your lips were blue and. It was.” Bucky’s jaw tightens. “The doctors said your lung collapsed. You were bleeding internally, choking on your own blood. I--” Bucky’s bottom lip trembles but he bites down on it hard. “I thought I was going to lose you, Ace.” 

“You saved me,” Steve rasps, remembering Bucky’s lips in his hair, Bucky murmuring to him to just _ hold on. _ Steve’s throat feels thick. "You saved my life."

“_ ou _ saved me,” Bucky corrects with a light chuckle, though there is something sad in it. “And you took down two HYDRA agents by yourself--do you remember that? You were bad _ ass, _ Steve. I was so proud. You were...incredible. JARVIS told me about the plan that you came up with, how _ brave _you were...” Bucky swallows, awe-struck. “I knew you would be, but. I’m sorry that you had to be. I should have been there, with you.” 

“Had to try out my skills sometime or the other. And ‘sides, I learned from the best,” Steve croaks, trying to lighten the mood. Bucky pressed the oxygen mask back against Steve’s face with his left hand, brows knitted together in worry.

“Breathe,” Bucky reminds him softly. “You got pretty banged up, Stevie. You gotta take it easy for a bit.” 

Irritated, Steve tugs the mask off again. He had so many more questions. As Bucky sighs and reaches for him to put the mask back in place, Steve gasps, noticing for the first time the metal arm that had supposedly exploded was back on Bucky’s arm. 

“Buck--your arm--”

Bucky lets the mask go and holds up his left arm for inspection, wiggling the fingers. 

It looks _ almost _the same, still a shiny silver colour, but the shoulder now bore a different sigil, not the red star of HYDRA. It was the Howling Commando sigil, Steve recognized it immediately, done in the same dark blue colour of Bucky’s Avenger’s uniform. 

“You like it?” Bucky smiles softly, looking between Steve and the arm. “Courtesy of Stark.” 

“Brand new?” Steve mumbled, his words feeling clumsy. 

“Yes,” Tony replied, from the threshold of the room. He’d be silent up until now, but steps into view as he speaks. “State of the _ art. _ It’s got all these new features, bulletproof, much lighter and more responsive than the old arm, and it even has a flesh-camouflage feature--I’ve never done anything like it before but it’s _ damn _good, if I do say so myself. Show him, Barnes,” Tony urges. 

Bucky’s ring finger presses down on one of the plates in his palm, and Steve’s jaw falls open as the plates shutter and readjusts, flipping over to reveal olive-toned skin holographs that match Bucky’s other arm perfectly, right down to the dusting of brown hair and veins that stick out in his forearm.

Steve touches it tentatively, gasping. It still feels like cool metal, but it had a little bit of give, almost like real skin. 

“That’s amazing,” Steve breathes. 

“Perfect for undercover situations,” Tony says proudly. 

“And date night,” Bucky smiles softly, pressing the button again as the arm became metal once more. “No more wearing a glove in the middle of July to hide my arm.”

“I wanted to add a vibrate feature--yeah, you’re _ welcome _\--but Barnes shot that idea down quick.” Tony rolls his eyes. “What a prude, right? Anyways. The new arm is also stronger, more flexible, waterproof...blah, blah blah. It’s got all the fixings, and the sky's the limit for what else we could add. A soft serve machine, a laser-beam shooter, flame-thrower…” Tony’s voice fades in the background as Steve drinks that all in.

“But--” Steve shook his eye, his eyes slowly starting to water, his bottom lip trembling. “The arm exploded...I just. This is a lot to take in. I thought we were going to die.” _ I thought I _ was _ dead, _he wants to say, but couldn’t stand the far-away look in Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky’s face softens. He sits down on the edge of Steve’s hospital cot, grabbing one of Steve’s bruised hands. They had all had over a week to process the trauma they’d been through, but Steve was experiencing it all now, in one crashing wave. “We didn’t. We took care of each other, like we said we always would.” 

Steve can’t make himself realize that just yet. His mind was racing. “Where were the others? Are they alright?” 

“Everyone is okay. You got the worst of it, sweetheart. While you and I were upstairs, Nat, Sam, Clint, and Tony were taking down the rest of the HYDRA agents that got into the tower and escorting the civilians out.” 

“...What did they want? Why did they come?” 

“Me,” Bucky replies in a whisper. He is quiet for a few moments after that, breathing in and out steadily. “They wanted me.” 

Steve knew that, already. He could see the hungry way Rumlow looked at Bucky, like a procurer looking at a highly coveted artifact. Bucky was HYDRA’s biggest success story--of course him working for the other side wouldn’t fly. Bucky had intel on HYDRA that would be monumental in their take down. They had come to get him back--and if they couldn’t do that easily, they planned on killing him. 

“The arm was always a backup mechanism,” Bucky explains. “Rumlow decided to use it when he realized we were about to take him into custody. They could have detonated it at any time--we could have just been watching TV, or, or sleeping--”

Steve doesn’t have the energy to speak. He’s in pain, but so is Bucky. He grabs Bucky’s hand and squeezes tight. _ It’s alright, _ Steve’s eyes tell him. _ We made it. _

“Steve,” Tony clears his throat. “I--I’ve got to say something to you,” 

Bucky blinks up at Tony, and shakes his head. “Stark, I’ve already told you. _ No one _ holds you responsible for this. Hydra is damn _ good _at what they do, they took us by surprise--”

“_I’m _ supposed to be damn good too!” Tony snaps, and then swallows as if the outburst surprised him. He runs his hands through his hair, and Steve takes him in for a moment, realizing how deep the bags under his eyes were, and how his shirt looked as if he’d been wearing it for three days non stop, deeply wrinkled and stretched-out. “Look, just. Just let me get this out, because....whether you blame me or not, this _ was _ my fault, and I can’t just shut up about that and pretend like it isn’t. It _ is. _” 

“Tony,” Steve gapes, trying to follow whatever wacked-up logic Tony was on right now. “Are you crazy? It’s not _ your fault _that Hydra decided to infiltrate. You had no idea they were coming.” 

“That’s exactly the problem. I had _ no idea. _They took me by surprise.”

“They took all of us by surprise,” Bucky interrupts. “Stark. Enough of this, you can’t hold yourself accountable. They got this one over on us, but we’re going to be the reason they cease to exist. Hold on to that.”

“And everyone is okay,” Steve pipes in, coughing weakly. “So, no harm, no foul. You can get them next time, with extra bullets.” 

“You almost weren’t okay,” Tony says, his voice much quieter. “You were legally dead for two minutes, Steve. You _ died _because my security checks for PR weren’t tight enough. Weren’t good enough.”

Steve blinks at that, turning to stare wide-eyed at Bucky. Bucky hadn’t told him that, but the look on his face now told Steve that what Tony said was true. 

Dead. He had….died. Then Steve would have been the ghost in their relationship.

“Well,” he wheezes, his mouth dry as cotton. “M’fine now. I will be fine, I just need to rest.”

“I won’t let it happen again,” Tony vows. “I’m working on stronger security defences, facial recognition, voice recognition--this tower is going to be _ safe, _ dammit. And from now on, PR conferences and other public events are going to be held _ elsewhere, _ and_\--” _

“You’re forgiven,” Steve says simply like it’s nothing. He can tell, though, by the shocked look on Tony’s face, that those were the last words he expected Steve to say. “You have always done your best to protect the team, and this was no exception. What happened to me was no one’s fault but Hydra’s. There was nothing to forgive, but. You’re forgiven, Tony.” 

Tony swallows, blinking for a few moments. Steve feels like he can practically see the weight being lifted, just a little, off of Tony’s shoulders. “I’m--” He clears his throat twice. “I’m going to go get some food. You want anything, Barnes?”

“No, thanks,” Bucky murmurs, staring at Steve’s face like he was searching for something specific there. “See you later, Tony,” 

“Later,” Tony agrees, dazed. He backs out of the room slowly, and the door shuts behind him. 

***

“What do you _ mean _ I need to be on bed rest for the next _ two weeks?” _ Steve groans, his face in his hands. “I’m going to go _ crazy.” _

“And, by default, I’m taking the next three weeks off work, so I can tend to your every need and swaddle you up in my arms like a baby while you heal, just how you like,” Bucky winks charmingly, even though his words make Steve roll his eyes as he carefully guides another spoonful of almost-Jell-O to his mouth, grimacing. Since this was the Avenger’s private med-bay, it wasn’t regular Jell-O, but rather some sort of organic, vitamin-infused non-GMO gelatin that was green in colour and tasted vaguely like kale. 

Bucky had, however, gotten a chocolate chip cookie from the bakery and he was saving it for after Steve had _ eaten all of his green mush, _as Steve’s reward for being a good patient and not giving his nurses a hard time about his checks. 

“Great. Dr. Bucky is on the job, makin’ sure none of his patients have any fun, ever,” Steve sighs. “Can’t wait.” 

“Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll eat your cookie.” 

“I got ‘nother cookie you can eat,” Steve wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Bucky lets out a long-suffering sigh. 

“You heard the doctor. No sex ‘till you’re healed up,” Bucky says sternly, even pointing an accusing finger at Steve. 

Steve bites playfully at Bucky’s finger. “There are definitely some low-activity sex positions we could try. Remember bath tub sex? Very forgiving. Plus, if you put some Epsom salts in there, it’s basically athletic therapy…” 

“_Steve,” _Bucky groans, staring up at the ceiling, though Steve can see he’s fighting off a bit of a smile. “You’re going to make this recovery process very difficult, ain’t ya?”

“No, sir!” Steve rasps, coughing into his elbow. “Not me. I’ll be good as gold.”

“I’ll believe that when hell freezes over,” Bucky scoffs. “‘Least me takin’ some time off will give us some extra time to plan the wedding.” 

Steve smiles softly. “That does sound nice,” He agrees. Besides, having a few weeks where Steve didn’t have to worry about Bucky rushing to fight off the next end-of-the-world-threat was a bonus. “The first thing we need to do is set a date. I don’t wanna have a long engagement so--”

“I don’t want to wait,” Bucky says quickly. Steve has a feeling that Bucky almost losing him had something to do with that statement. “You deserve a wedding with all the bells and whistles my army back pay can buy, sweetheart, but we gotta put this thing on _ rush _or I’m gonna go crazy.” 

“Such a romantic, Barnes. How did the ladies ever keep their pantyhose on ‘round the likes of you?” Steve snorts. Bucky honest to god _ giggles, _and it’s like hearing what sunshine sounds like. It fills Steve up with bliss. 

“Hey,” Steve says, his tone getting more serious, “I know you didn’t picture your first-ever PR conference turning out like that, but. I’m real proud of you, Buck. You were amazing.” 

Bucky blinks, startled by Steve’s words. The actual conference felt far away like it had happened months and months ago. “You think so?” 

“Yeah,” Steve smiles. “And about what you said..about not wanting to let anyone down--”

“I don’t want to let _ you _down,” Bucky corrects. “Don’t care ‘bout anyone else.”

“Not true,” Steve rolls his eyes, but he continues, “You’ve never, ever let me down, Buck. And you never will. You don’t have to worry about that. I’ve got you in my corner, and you’ve got me in yours.”

Bucky watches him with a soft expression, and presses a kiss to Steve’s temple, light as feathers. “You got me,” Bucky agrees. “And I’ve got you.”

“Thank you for staying with me,” Steve says quietly. He squeezes Bucky’s hand. “This probably hasn’t been easy on you.” 

“It hasn’t,” Bucky agrees, and the way he says it tells Steve there is a lot he _ isn’t _saying, a lot they’d need to work out, together. Steve endured a trauma, but Bucky did too, perhaps suffering even worse sitting there beside Steve, helpless, than Steve himself. “But that doesn’t matter, now. You’re here.” 

It did matter--it mattered a lot, to Steve. But they didn’t have to get into it now. 

“I want daisies at the wedding,” Steve blurts. “They were my mother’s favourite.”

“As many daisies as you want,” Bucky agrees, pressing the softest of kisses to Steve’s hair. “What else?”

“I want Sam as my best man, so I call dibs.” 

Bucky snorts. “I’ve already asked Natalia to be my best woman,” He explains. “So you can have Wilson.” 

“And also I don’t care how overdone it is, I want a midnight snack bar with all the junk food a drunk person could dream of, and I want there to be a photo booth where we make sure that we get photos of everyone smiling--” a knock at the door startles Steve out of his ramblings. It’s Tony, hesitating at the threshold like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to come in. 

“May I?” he asks softly. 

Steve nods. “‘Course. What’s up?” 

“How are you feeling?” Tony asks, taking a seat in the chair at Steve’s side, opposite of Bucky. “Stronger?”

“I’ve had a lot of time to rest,”Steve nods. He is still not ready for anything other than lying in the bed and talking about their wedding or other light-hearted things, but he felt stronger than he did that morning when he’d first woken up, which is when he'd seen Tony last. 

“Good, good…” Tony trails off. “Listen, Rogers, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Tony, I already told you--there’s no hard feelings, you’re not responsible for what happened--” He stops to wheeze a little, and Bucky _ tuts _disapprovingly, holding the oxygen mask up for Steve to take again. He does, inhaling deeply, even if he shoots a glare at Bucky over the top of it. Bucky watches back, amused. 

“No, no,” Tony waves his hand dismissively. “I don’t want to talk about that. There’s something else.”

“I don’t know, Tony…” Bucky shakes his head, giving Tony a hard look as he turns away from Steve. He folds his arms over his chest. “Not yet. You said you'd wait until he was stronger.”

Steve glances between the two men, trying to figure out what they seemed to know that Steve didn’t.

“He looks stronger to me. The board is waiting for his decision,” Tony mutters under his breath. “If he says yes they need to start getting the equipment and resources ready.” 

“Tony--” Bucky begins again, but Tony just ignores him and blurts out: “You wanna join the team, Rogers?”

“Goddamit,” Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “I _ said _not yet.”

Steve gawks at him, taking off the oxygen mask once again. “Join the _ team?” _ he squeaks. “Are you out of your goddamn _ mind?” _

“Not as an Avenger, per say,” Tony murmurs. “But we can’t ignore how well you were able to defend yourself after less than two months of training here and there with Barnes. Imagine what you could do _ armed _, Steve, with the highest grade technology and gadgets that would ensure your safety. Imagine how much easier day to day life would be if you were one of us. No more worrying about what going out in public with Barnes might do to either of you, no more feeling out of the loop...”

Steve glances with wide eyes between Tony and Bucky, trying to detect what the punchline of the joke was, and when it was coming. Bucky won’t meet his eyes, holding Steve’s hands with a barely-there touch, his eyebrows knit together. 

“If you’re doing this just because I’m Bucky’s boyfriend, or because you feel guilty--” 

“I’m not,” Tony said sharply. “This is something I’ve considered even before seeing you in action. Based on what the others have told me, you’re _ good, _Rogers. You’ve had a gift since the beginning, you’ve always had an eye for tactics and a passion for doing the right thing--Sam and Natasha have filled me in on that. You’ve got a fighting spirit, Steve, and if this is something you want to do, we’d be delighted to have you on board,” Tony offers. “I really think you could make a difference.”

_ Make a difference. _

All this time, Steve had been feeling like the odd man out, the weakling of his friend group that everyone had been racing to try to protect, or to baby. And now, here Tony stood, putting an offer on the table like it was nothing. Like this wouldn’t make Steve a completely different person. 

Change could be good. 

Steve could help people, he could help _ take down _the very organization that broke the spirit of the man he loved. 

“You don’t have to decide right away,” Bucky advises, glaring at Stark while he speaks to Steve, his thumb working light circles against the back of Steve’s hand, minding the IV and bruises. “It’s a big decision and you’ve been through a lot--”

“Barnes isn’t fully on board,” Tony admits, shrugging his shoulders. “Can’t say I blame him.” 

Steve looks between Bucky and Tony, lips pursed. Of course Bucky wouldn’t want him doing something dangerous, but...was this something Steve wanted? To be a part of the action? 

He couldn’t deny the thrill of the adrenaline rush when he successfully put two HYDRA agents flat on their backs. He had never felt more powerful, more in control of his own fate. 

“_But,” _Tony continues. “It’s not his choice, Steve. It’s yours.” 

Tony was right. Bucky may disapprove, but Steve knew that if this was something he really decided he wanted, Bucky wouldn’t dare stand in his way. 

“He’s right,” Bucky looks at Steve apologetically, finally meeting his eyes. “It is your choice, but like I said, you don’t have to make it right now. You just woke up, I’m sure you’re probably very overwhelmed--”

“You would be something of a spy,” Tony explains, glaring at Bucky but talking to Steve. “Going undercover, getting intel. Not a lot of fighting involved, generally, and the team would always be around the corner, to have your back in case things go south--we would never send you in without backup. But you check all the boxes, Rogers, and I really think you’d love it,” Tony murmurs. “Plus, and no offence, kid, but you look about 17 years old and 90 pounds soaking wet. Your size pretty much ensures that you’re going to be overlooked--” 

“_ Stark,” _Bucky growls, his brow furrowing once again. Bucky’s hackles raised easily when someone brought Steve into it, and clearly, Bucky’s teammates were no exception. “Watch yourself.” 

Tony holds his hands up in defence but looks unperturbed by Bucky’s posturing. He’d probably seen it all before--Tony liked to push buttons, and Steve was pretty much Bucky’s _ biggest _button. Nothing got to him more. 

“I meant that as a _ compliment,” _Tony defends sheepishly. “You’re perfect for the job, Rogers, and we’ve been looking for someone to do just what I’ve outlined. You’re ahead of the game, already partially trained by one of the best,” Tony gestured to Bucky sweetly. “And you’ve got more reason to fight this fight than most.”

“Flattery, Tony? Really?” Bucky rolls his eyes, but he looks just a little bit pleased. 

Steve swallows, his mind racing with the implications of what Tony has put on the table. “I,” He lets out a long breath and earns an aching burn in his chest for it. 

“So, Rogers?” Tony prompts, rubbing his hands together. Bucky narrows his eyes at Tony like he wants to flick him in the ear for pushing Steve to make a decision. Steve blinks fast. _ Him, _a spy? Working to take down Hydra? Working by Bucky’s side. Tony tilts his head in wait. “What’ll it be?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is unable to find Steve's pulse for 2 minutes, not graphic, in Steve's POV. Shortly after, Steve is revived and is fine.


	27. and grace will lead me home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know you,” She tells him, “Вы вините себя.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE SEE END OF CHAPTER NOTES FOR WARNINGS.
> 
> I know I just uploaded yesterday but this chapter is so short I figured....why not. Also if you want to torture yourself listen to this chapter's song (Amazing grace by sleeping at last) while you read it. Torture. but fun, you know?
> 
> Enjoy :)
> 
> (Please see the end of chapter notes for translations)

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound  
That saved a wretch like me  
I once was lost but now I'm found  
Was blind, but now I see

T'was grace that taught my heart to fear  
And grace, my fears relieved  
How precious did that grace appear  
The hour I first believed

Through many dangers, toils and snares  
I have already come  
'Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far  
And grace will lead me home  
And grace will lead me home

\- _Amazing Grace, _Sleeping at Last

* * *

The room filled with anticipation. 

Steve blinked between Tony and Bucky. They both waited expectantly for his answer.

“I-I need some time to think.” 

Tony lets out a long sigh. “Sure, sure, yeah. No problem, take all the time in the world.” Tony lingers, staring at the ceiling, then the wall, then back at the floor. He lets out a whistle, rocking back and forth on his heels. He checks his watch and then looks around again.

Bucky clears his throat, arching a brow at Tony.

“Oh!” Tony exclaims. “You want to talk about it, together. _ Alone _\--right. Sure, okay. I’ll just...come back, uh, later.” 

“You do that,” Bucky mutters, watching Tony stroll out. 

Tony leaves them alone, and Steve lets out a long breath, wincing a little at the pain in his abdomen.

Bucky, of course, notices right away.

“You okay, Ace? Do you want a nurse?” Bucky frets, his hand already reaching for the call button. “We can get you more pain medication--” 

“No,” Steve’s hands reached out, grabbing Bucky’s and bringing it to his lap to give it a reassuring squeeze. “Buck. We need to talk ‘bout this. I know you probably aren’t thrilled. It’s okay. You can tell me.” 

Bucky stares back at him guiltily. His stubble is longer than Steve had ever seen it, his hair tied back messily at the nape of his neck. He's wearing a grey henley and dark jeans, but he looks like he hadn’t left Steve’s side once, deep bags under his eyes highlighting that he likely hadn’t slept in days. 

“I don’t like it,” Bucky admits, nodding slowly. “But...I can’t disagree with what Stark said. You _ do _clearly have a gift for hand to hand combat, Steve. We’ve barely trained, and--and you managed to incapacitate those two Hydra agents, who were both heavily armed and highly trained. Not to mention, twice your size.” 

Steve can sense the pride in Bucky’s voice. “But?” Steve prompts, knowing there was more. 

“But,” Bucky clenches his jaw. “The thought of you around anybody dangerous, without me being right there beside you...” Bucky shudders a little. “It ain’t comforting.” 

“I understand,” Steve murmurs, meaning it. He had been in Bucky's place before, he knew that gnawing feeling at the pit of his stomach. “I worry about you when you’re on missions too, Buck.”

“Is this...something you wanna do?” Bucky swallows. He looks nervous to hear Steve’s answer, those pale eyes watching him anxiously. 

Steve considers the question fully before answering. _ Did _he want to be in the line of fire? In danger every day? 

Did he want to be more of Bucky’s equal, able to stand beside him and fight? To be able to help protect his friends--and even do something for the greater good? 

Steve could be a part of the operation that brings Hydra to its knees. Hydra--the operation that tortured Bucky and stole his memories like it was their _ right. _

He didn't know how ready he was to be thrown into the superhero mix of things..but if his friends recognized something in him that could be used to tear Hydra down, Steve wanted in. 

“Yes,” Steve replies finally, meeting Bucky’s eyes, his voice strong. “Yes, I think I do.” 

Bucky presses his lips together, looking just a bit defeated by Steve's reply.

“...Alright,” He nods finally. “Once you’re all healed up, then, we can begin getting you ready for the field.” Bucky looks at the floor, not meeting Steve’s eyes. His posture is tense, his spine rigid, 

“Hey,” Steve murmurs. “Look at me. Please.”

Bucky looks up slowly, and Steve sees that his eyes are red-rimmed and watery. 

“Buck,” Steve sighs, his hand squeezing Bucky's. “Hey, this is a _ good _thing.”

“I almost lost you once,” Bucky shakes his head slowly, biting down on his bottom lip to keep it from trembling. “I can’t do that again, Steve, I ain’t strong enough for that. I felt you--I felt you die in my _ arms._”

Steve’s heart shudders at that. He could remember only vaguely Bucky’s desperate voice in his ear, begging him to keep breathing. 

“I fought for us,” Steve reminds him quietly. “I’m here, Buck. I came back.” 

“And now you’re going to rush back into danger the second you’re healed up? Rush into the den of the-the very people I’m afraid of most, all alone?” Bucky swallow. “How can I stomach that, Steve? How am I supposed to cope with that?” 

“I won’t be all alone,” Steve disagrees. “I’ve got you, and Nat, and Clint, and Sam, and Tony. Tony said it himself, I’d _ never _ be alone. You’d be on the other side of that door, Buck, and I’ll call for help as soon as I need it. Or--or someone else on the team could go undercover with me, maybe even _ you. _ The technology Tony used on your arm could be used for so much more, to disguise any one of the Avengers so no one would recognize you. We could be a _ team. _Equals.” 

Bucky sniffles, watching Steve with searching eyes. Finally, he lets out a long breath, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “I’m going to put so much kevlar on you it’s going to be hard to walk,” Bucky warns in a small voice. Steve knew he’d won the battle. Bucky saw logic, he saw the fire in Steve’s eyes, how badly he wanted this. 

“You can bubble wrap me if you want,” Steve agrees with a small laugh, which turns into a painful cough. Bucky brushes Steve’s hair back from his eyes and presses a careful kiss to Steve’s forehead. 

“I may take you up on that,” Bucky laughs quietly. He takes a deep breath and nods once. Steve lets out an involuntary yawn. “You’re tired. You should get some rest.”

Steve lets his eyes slide shut, not realizing how exhausted he was until they closed. “Mm,” He agrees, letting out another yawn. “You should go home and sleep, you’re way too big for that hospital chair. And you need a shower.” 

Bucky pulls the blankets up to Steve’s chin, just the way he likes them. “You tryin’ to tell me I smell, sweetheart?” 

“That is exactly what I’m trying to tell you,” Steve snorts, not bothering to open his eyes. He can hear the smile in Bucky’s voice. “I know damn well you haven’t left here in days.” 

“I left a couple times, to get your memory foam pillow you like and to change clothes,” Bucky admits sheepishly. 

“Sleep is important even for superheroes,” Steve coughs again, wincing into the said pillow. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I’m fine here, Buck, I’m just gonna sleep for a bit. I’ll have a nurse call you when I wake up again, if you want.” 

“I don’t want you to be alone--”

“I’m not alone. I’ve got doctors and nurses, and m’sure Nat, Sam and Clint will drop by later...” 

Steve can practically _ feel _Bucky resisting. “Do you really want vending machine coffee?” Steve presses, his eyes still closed. He was starting to slip off into sleep. 

Bucky chuckles. “This is Stark’s private med-bay, Ace. It’s got a Starbucks, and it’s damn good.” 

Steve hadn’t thought of that, but of course it makes sense. Tony would never stand for vending machine coffee. 

“Please take care of yourself,” Steve whispers, barely coherent, as he begins to drift off to sleep. “Please.”

“Easy, Stevie,” Bucky swallows. Steve hears the scrap of the chair against the linoleum floors s Bucky stands. “Okay. I’ll go home and shower, maybe try to take a quick nap. Okay?”

“Good,” Steve approves softly, nuzzling into the pillow to get more comfortable. “See ya later.” 

“Sweet dreams, honey,” Bucky hums. “I love you.” 

“Love you,” Steve agrees, seconds before sleep pulls him away. 

Bucky lingers at the threshold, hesitating. He hated seeing Steve like this--hooked up to machines that monitored his heart, his breathing, his blood pressure. Steve looked so small on the huge hospital cot, just skin and bones, covered in bruises. 

His breathing was strong but a little laboured, and the wheeze of it made Bucky afraid to walk away. What if something happened while he was gone? 

Leaving Steve alone with strangers, with no one to advocate for him? 

Did the nurses know that eggs hurt Steve’s stomach, or that he didn’t like chocolate pudding? Did they know that his circulation was so bad he needed extra blankets, or that he got nightmares that caused him to thrash? 

Bucky scrubs a hand through his hair, pulling himself away from the room like he was ripping off a bandaid, grimacing as he turned and lost sight of Steve. He would go home, shower. Get some rest, eat something. He would take care of himself, like he’d promised Steve he would.

***

Bucky returns thirty minutes later, showered, shaved, and changed. He wasn’t strong enough to stay away.

He settles into the uncomfortable chair and breathes a little easier with Steve just a few feet away. Something that had been clutching at his heart relaxes slightly as he settles into the plastic chair. Steve was _right there. _Bucky was close. Bucky listens to the constant steady beep of the heart monitor, uses it like a mantra. _Steve is alive. He's alive. He's alive. _

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” Natalia’s voice startles him from the doorway. 

Bucky doesn’t turn to face her as she walks into the room, her steps silent. She’s wearing one of Clint’s vintage t shirts and some light wash jeans, her red hair tied up into a bun at the very top of her head. It’s the most civilian she’s maybe ever looked. It probably spoke to how worried she was about Steve, how much the ambush had also shaken her up. 

“Looks like you couldn’t, either,” Bucky notices softly, still watching the rise and fall of Steve's small chest. “You didn’t need to stop by twice in one day.”

Natalia presses a hot coffee into his hands and ruffles his hair affectionately. Bucky accepts the cup gratefully and gives her a warm smile, finally tugging his eyes away from Steve's sleeping figure.

“Figured you’d need it,” She hums. “And maybe some company.”

“Suppose so,” Bucky agrees, keeping his voice down so as not to wake Steve. "Though m'not very good company lately." 

“I don't mind," Natasha remarks, and then hesitates. "He’s going to be okay, you know,” She soothes, sitting down on the edge of Steve’s bed. Bucky is about to chastise her not to wake him up, but her movements are so light that Steve doesn’t even stir. 

“I know,” Bucky nods, trying to convince himself of it down to his very core. His voice doesn't sound as convincing as he means it to be. “He’s strong.” 

“Stronger than most,” Natasha agrees. Her fingertips brush barely-there sweeps across Steve’s calve, one of the only parts of Steve that wasn’t covered in bruises or cuts. She looks back up at Bucky, "And brave.. And kind." 

"Yes," Bucky agrees thickly. Steve was all of those things and more, in great quantities. 

"It’s not your fault, Barnes. Stop looking so tortured.” 

Bucky blinks, not realizing his face had been that expressive. He tries to smooth his expression, but she only rolls her eyes. 

“I know you,” She tells him, “Вы вините себя.”

“I should have kept him safe,” Bucky replies in English, staring at the ground. “He _ died, _Nat. I felt his heart stop.” He couldn’t let himself remember the panic too fully, he couldn’t let himself go back to the moment where he thought--he _really_ thought--that he was going to lose Steve forever.

She watches him silently for a few moments, and then presses her lips together, setting her coffee down on the side table and gently removing herself from the bed. 

She lets out a small breath and crosses the room to curl up in Bucky’s lap like a cat, tugging his head down to rest on her shoulder before he could protest.

“Учитель,” she murmurs, the name bringing back memories of their early days together, Bucky looking out for the tiny redhead that reminded him of Becca, a sister he could hardly recall at the time, and even less so now. Natalia had her fighting spirit, the same stubborn set to her lip. In some ways, they will both always be a part of him. Natalia kept him human when he was anything but. His little bird. 

“It’s not your fault,” She tells him quietly, running her fingers through his damp hair. “Let it go, soldier, it wasn’t your fault.” 

_ Not his fault. _ Could he let those words sink into his skin? Bucky inhales shakily, and when he exhales, sobs take over his body, too strong to hold back. _ It wasn’t his fault. _ He did what he could to protect Steve. He had done everything he could. 

He presses his face into her shoulder. Bucky is glad she doesn’t say anything about the dampness she likely feels against her neck, as his shoulders shake, quiet little gasps escaping his lips. 

She holds him back fiercely, as Bucky tries to keep as quiet as possible so Steve didn’t wake up.

“He’s okay, James. He’s fine. He’s going to be fine, he has you. He has all of us,” She murmurs, like a promise, "He's so brave. So strong. Nothing will ever take him from us again." 

Bucky swallows. Nat was right--Steve was going to be fine. He was going to be _ fine, _and Bucky would never, ever have to feel that fear again, feel the life drain out of Steve again. He couldn’t. He refused. 

“Я не защищал его,” Bucky chokes out. “I couldn’t...I couldn’t _ protect _him.”

Natasha presses her nose to Bucky’s temple. “You did the best you could, учитель,” She murmurs softly, “And that’s okay. Just because you feel a weight on your shoulders doesn't mean it's yours to bear. This time, it was his turn to protect you," She takes a deep breath, "I can shoulder some of the weight, Sasha. Let me take some of the weight." 

Bucky lets her hold him for thirty-nine minutes. He feels like a thunder cloud, full of rain. The storm had rolled in and he couldn’t stop until he had nothing left to give. He cried until his eyes were red and itchy and dry.

When he opens his eyes again, Sam, Clint, and Tony have all spilled silently into the room, surrounding Steve like guardian angels, watching him with varying degrees of love, worry, and respect. 

The heart monitor and Steve’s wheezing breath was the only sound in the room, helping them all breathe a little easier, a visual and auditory representation of what they all needed to know--that Steve was _ okay. _

Bucky unfurls from Natalia, rolling his shoulders a little, letting the strength of the room soak into his skin. He squeezes her hand.

“Моя маленькая птичка,” He tells her softly. “Thank you.”

She gives him a barely-there smile. Her eyes are red, too, but Bucky won’t point that out. They were all broken in different ways. They stared at the sleeping boy and all of their hearts throbbed for him. 

In different ways, he belonged to everyone in the room.

Steve slept soundly, his lashes casting crescent-shaped shadows down his cheeks, his lips parted slightly, completely unaware of the effect he had on the people around him, the hearts he touched with just a few words. 

Out the window, the sun began to rise over the sleeping city, casting the room and everyone in it in a soft, golden glow. 

It felt safe, and warm, like love was something tangible in the air and the whole city knew it. It vibrated in the empty pockets of the room. 

With great bursts of love and hope, with the kiss of the sun spilling over the earth, Bucky took a deep breath and felt _ grateful _ for the life he’d been given. 

His heart would heal. Steve would hold his hand. There would be daisies at their wedding. 

_ He could let go of the pain he’d felt holding Steve after the explosion, he could let go of the fear that gripped him. _

Things were lighter, now. Golden.

Spring was here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky deals with the trauma of almost losing Steve. It's not very graphic and at the end of the chapter he is able to let go of some of the guilt that he'd been struggling with.
> 
> Translations:  
Учитель = teacher  
Я не защищал его = I didn't protect him  
Моя маленькая птичка = My little bird


	28. I feel the sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He’s talking with Tony about the new suit they’re going to design for you,” Natasha grins wickedly. “You’re really in for it, Steve. Bucky had three requests: bulletproof, fireproof, and failproof.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure of posting this felt right at this time, with everything going on, but I figured a short chapter with some fluff may be what some of us need right now.  
These are troubling times, these are changing times, and I hope all of you are taking time for yourselves to show yourself a little bit of extra kindness & love. You deserve it and so much more. I'm on Tumblr as wincestplease if anyone would like to talk about anything at all! 
> 
> See the end of chapter for translations :)

Honey honey  
I can see the stars all the way from here  
Can't you see the glow on the window pane  
I can feel the sun whenever you're near  
Every time you touch me I just melt away

Now everybody ask me why I'm smiling out from ear to ear  
(They say love hurts)  
But I know (it's gonna take the real work)  
Nothing's perfect but it's worth it  
After fighting through my tears and finally you put me first

Baby it's you  
You're the one I love

-_Love on top, _cover by Tim Halpirn 

* * *

Steve stays in the hospital for eight more days. He learns that he’s really, _ really _bad at poker.

“This is pointless,” Steve sighs, dropping his cards down on the table.

“Is not,” Natasha rolls her eyes, “This is _ training, _ Steve. If you want to go undercover, your poker face has to be better. I feel like I can practically read your _ mind. _ And besides, this is an important game to know how to play. Lots of big-time Hydra scum gather around and gamble away fortunes,_” _ She arches a brow, “If you want to play with the big boys, you have to learn the rules, мой маленький ученик.” 

Steve blanches at her, offended, and pushes the cards away. “I hope that wasn’t something offensive. And I quit for today, I need a break,” He grunts, rubbing his eyes and readjusting his glasses. He hadn’t worn contacts in weeks, and he was getting more used to having his glasses on than he’d like to admit, even if he knew they took like ten years off his already young-looking face. “I want Bucky. Where did he go?” 

Bucky was usually made to leave the room during Steve 'training' because, in Natasha's words, _he doesn't let me push you. _Bucky was just a tad bit protective, and when he sensed Steve getting tired or frustrated, he stuck up for his fiance and let him have break, whereas Natasha liked to keep going. 

Steve liked to play the _I want Bucky _card when he was done with Natasha, or anyone else, for that matter. There were _many _perks about being engaged to a former Russian assassin. it was kind of like having his own personal body guard who also kissed the tip of his nose and called him names like _sugar. _

“He’s talking with Tony about the new suit they’re going to design for you,” Natasha grins wickedly. “You’re really in for it, Steve. Bucky had three requests: bulletproof, fireproof, and failproof.” 

Steve lets out a long-suffering sigh, staring up at the ceiling, bracing himself for _ that _ fun conversation. “I told him he could wrap me up in _ kevlar, _not vibranium. I don’t want to be flying around like a tiny Iron Man.” 

Nat collects the cards with deft fingers and tucks them back into the metal box, putting them on the bedside table for later with a pointed _ slap _ that said _ you know damn well we’re going to work on it later._

“You’re going to have to accept that Barnes is going to be weirded out by this, maybe for a long time, Steve. Being...overbearing...is just going to be part of that, for a while.”

“I know that,” Steve mutters. He expected Bucky to posture a bit over the next few weeks, outlining every possible life-threatening scenario that Steve could be faced with and trying to come up with a way. If anyone knew how Bucky’s mind worked, it was Steve. “I just--”

“Oh _Steven_!” Stark bursts into the room like a fireball of energy, coffee in hand, jazz fingers going vigorously with the other. “I have a surprise for you!” 

Steve squints at him suspiciously, waiting. When he doesn’t prompt for more information, Tony sighs.

“It involves fresh air,” Tony hints, waggling his eyebrows. Steve starts to put the pieces together. “Drum roll please!” Tony encourages, staring at Nat. She glares at him and doesn’t move, so he pats his own thighs rapidly to make his own drumroll with one hand, the other hand still gripping his coffee. “Steve is going _ home!” _

Steve’s eyes light up, unable to control the burst of relief he feels at the news. “I’m getting discharged?” he grins. “Really?” 

“Well,” Stark shrugs, sipping his coffee again, his energy level coming back down to normal. “Unofficially, officially. The doctors said you need to take it easy, Barnes said he doesn’t think you can do that, and I said what the hell! Free him!” He grins widely at Steve, “So Barnes is on his way back here with a wheelchair that he and the docs want you to use so you don’t like, I dunno, die again, or whatever.”

“That’s great news, Tony, thank you,” Steve smiles softly. The idea of going home warmed Steve's chest. It felt like ages since he'd last visited the apartment...he missed his plants. And Peggy. “Really. And, listen. I know you’ve been working really hard on, uh, a suit for me, but I was hoping we could talk about that, 'cause--”

“Ah, ah, ah. Don’t worry that pretty little concussed head ‘bout that, okay? You just focus on bossing Barnes around and eating chicken noodle soup out of his mouth like a baby bird, or whatever it is you two love-doves get up to when you’re sick,” Stark curtseys dramatically. Steve doesn't trust the look in those eyes. Stark was up to something. “Enjoy your freedom, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Natasha arches a brow. “You’re done with the suit already?” 

“A prototype,” Tony agrees defensively, unable to hide the excitement or pride in his tone. “What? I work fast when I have a Russian assassin barking orders at me, what can I say? He's an intimidating man. I've never met anyone who could loom so effectively._”_

Steve groans. He could already picture it, Bucky peering over Tony’s shoulders, ensuring that every single feature of the supposed suit functioned solely to keep Steve alive, a deep frown worked into his features. “I’m so sorry, Tony, I know how he can be, he’s just a little protective--”

“Protective? Who’s protective?” Bucky interrupts, pushing a wheelchair into the room with a knowing glare. He's wearing a black v neck t shirt and dark wash jeans, both of which cling to his muscles and make Steve's mouth water. He'd been wanting to get his hands on Bucky again for a long time. Stupid recovery. Stupid Rumlow. “You talkin’ ‘bout me, sweetheart?”

“Oh, never, darling!” Tony waltzes towards the door with flare, just as Bucky grumbles at him, “wasn’t talkin’ to _ you, _ jerk_.” _

Natasha glares at them both as Tony blows a kiss on his way out, disappearing down the hall. “Oh, real mature, boys,” she congratulates sarcastically. 

“Not talkin’ ‘bout you,” Steve defends innocently. “Just pokin’ fun,” He smiles sweetly, batting his lashes as he does and peeling the blanket back from his legs. “Apparently get to go home today.” 

“That’s the word on the street,” Bucky agrees with a sigh. He stares at Nat, waiting for an update. “Well,” he prompts impatiently. “How did poker go today?” 

“Ужасный! He’s a lost cause,” Natasha winks at Steve. “Maybe he’s more of a Go-Fish kind of guy.” 

“I prefer Uno,” Steve clarifies cheerily, unbothered by her insult. “But I’ll learn eventually. As Nat said, I want to play with big boys.” 

Bucky’s brows rise up high at that, as he glares accusingly at Natasha. “You told Steve he has to play with _ who? What?” _

“Easy, jealousy,” Natasha rolls her eyes, unperturbed as she gathers up her stuff. “I told him he needs to learn poker so he can keep up with Hydra scum on missions.” 

Bucky looks slightly soothed, but he’s still got his Angry Eyebrows in full effect as he glares at Natasha.

“Missions,” Steve squeaks excitedly. He clears his throat, and lowers his voice, trying to sound less like a teenager allowed to go to a dance for the first time. “I mean, uh. Yeah, missions. Cool, easy-breezy...lemon squeezy. Just a couple of card games. No big deal.”

“Spies don’t say _ lemon squeezy,” _Natasha snorts, as she tosses her bag over her shoulder. 

“Yes, they do,” Clint protests, suddenly appearing at the threshold with a grin. He's wearing dark wash jeans and a red t-shirt, and his hair is sticking up in all sorts of wild directions. In many ways, Clint was the human embodiment of his boy Lucky. He gives Steve a goofy smile.

“Hey, man. How ya feeling?” 

“Why does everyone sneak up on me?” Steve mutters, giving Clint a sour look. “It’s a glass wall, I should be able to _ see _you guys.” 

“You should be able to, but you didn’t,” Clint wiggles a finger in Steve’s direction. “‘Cause you need to be _ trained.” _

“M’feeling better,” Steve sighs, to answer Clint’s previous question. “I get to go home today.” 

Natasha walks up to Clint and plants a chaste kiss on his cheek, which makes Steve pause. He was finally starting to see Nat open up around them, show her affection for not just Clint, but the rest of the team, and it was....wonderful. Steve was _ proud _of her. 

“You ready?” Nat asks him. “We’re going to go down to the shooting range.”

“Date night,” Clint shrugs good-naturedly. “She promised we’d order pizza after, so. Who am I to refuse a lady her weaponry?” 

“Smart man,” Bucky chuckles, as Nat gives them a wave and strolls out the door, her fingertips just lightly holding on to Clint’s sleeve. It wasn’t holding hands, not quite, but it was close, and it was oddly sweet. 

“Buck,” Steve complains, contemplating their new reality. “Should _ we _be going on dates to the shooting range?” He frowns, his heart sinking a little. Firing a gun at a target wasn't his idea of a good time. In fact, the thought of handling a gun at all kind of freaked Steve out.

"Not really my idea of romance, Ace, but if you really want--"

“What if I ain’t cut out for this after all?” Steve blurts, staring up at Bucky with wide eyes. It was one thing to joke around with Nat about playing poker with Hydra operatives, but thinking abotu storming into a base with a gun in his hand and any idea how to use it..that image felt far away and vaguely terrifying. 

Bucky sits down heavily in the chair beside Steve’s bed, taking the hand that wasn’t hooked up to the IV and kissing the back of it gently. “Maybe that’s true,” Bucky murmurs, “And maybe it ain’t.” 

Steve pouts, feeling defeated. As excited as he was to finally be on the team, to be in the action instead of on the sidelines, considering what he still had to learn in order to be ready to contribute made Steve feel like he was in way over his head.

“That ain’t reassuring. Where is my encouragement?” 

Bucky rolls his eyes and peppers another kiss to Steve’s hand and wrist. He looks apologetic as he murmurs, “M’just saying, sweetheart. This is heavy stuff, you know? And you’re…” 

Steve arches a brow, preparing to be offended. “I’m_ what?” _he huffs, daring Bucky to continue. “Huh?” 

“Easy, kitten,” Bucky mutters, unbothered by Steve’s ruffled feathers. He cups Steve’s face, as if considering something made of fine China, tilting it from left to ride, and then stroking his thumb along the length of Steve’s cheekbone, the rough callous thrilling and comforting Steve at the same time. “You’re an innocent.” 

“An innocent,” Steve repeats flatly, with a scowl, pushing Bucky’s hand away. He was sick of being treated like a child. “You do remember that time I begged you to fuck me like _ the good little slut I am, _right? Or were you already checked out by that point?” 

“Stop talkin’ ‘bout that stuff when I can’t touch you,” Bucky grumbles half-heartedly, his grip tightening on Steve for half a moment before he lets out a sigh. “And that’s not what I meant. I’m talking about _ this _kind of stuff, Steve. Missions, and guns, and lying...killing, even. I mean, Hydra is pure evil, and I know you know that, but it’s one thing to know it, and another thing entirely to see it up close.” 

Steve’s scowl falls. He knew Bucky had a point, and staring into his pale, aged eyes, he knew exactly why Bucky was so hesitant to cheer Steve on to the front lines. If the roles were reversed, if _ Steve _was the one who had been hurt so many times by such an evil organization, the one who’d seen every facet of it’s ugly face...wouldn’t he be fighting for Bucky to stay the hell away from it, too? 

“But don’t you think I’m strong enough to deal with that?”

“You are,” Bucky nods, offering a sad smile. “I just don’t want you to have to be. You understand?” 

“You wanna protect me from everything,” Steve murmurs. It’s not an accusation. 

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, with a gentle nod. “I’d rather keep where I know you're safe. Painting...laughing. Not waking up from night terrors about facing Hydra’s scariest people.”

Steve inhales deeply, considering Bucky's point. He didn't blame him for it, but he had to make him understand that it would be okay. He didn't want Bucky to be scared, they'd been through os much. They deserved peace.

“I know you want the best for me,” he begins carefully, “but, Buck, this is something I have to at least try. I promise, if it’s too much, if it’s...if it’s too hard on _ us,” _he pauses to give Bucky a meaningful look and to squeeze his hand, “then we regroup, I step back. Maybe for a little bit, maybe for good. No one said that I have to be in this for life, right?”

“Right,” Bucky agrees quietly, offering a small smile. It seems genuine. “You’re right.” 

“So. We’re okay?” Steve clarifies with a crooked smile. 

Bucky stands, kissing Steve’s forehead as he does. “Am now, that we can get out of here and sleep in a real bed again,” Bucky reassures him lightly. “Now, let’s get a nurse to unhook you from this god forsaken thing, and let's get you home. You look like you need a bubble bath, with extra bubbles.”

“Does extra bubbles mean champagne?” Steve claps excitedly. “Because if so, then _ hell yes. _Also, does this mean you’ve reconsidered my proposition on sex in the tub while I’m still healing? ‘Cause I really think we could do it--”

“Steve,” Bucky groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Hmm?” 

“Shut. Up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> мой маленький ученик = my little student 
> 
> ужасный = terrible


	29. I'll be looking at the moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter (which will be followed by two epilogues, hehe).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT A JOURNEY. This is such a bitter-sweet posting. Although we still have 2 epilogues before I finally say goodbye to this verse, this feels like a sweet place to end the story 'till those (which will come out next week) 
> 
> Thank you to every single one of you who have followed this WIP from day 1, or who have joined along the way. Your kudos and comments makes me happier than you know. 
> 
> I love you all. I hope you are taking care of yourself during these tough times, and that maybe reading this can bring your hearts a little bit of peace.❤️
> 
> Please see the end of chapter notes for translations.

_ I'll find you in the morning sun, _

_ and when the night is new _

_ I'll be looking at the moon _

_ but I'll be seeing you. _

\- Billie Holiday, _I'll Be Seeing You _

* * *

“I dunno,” Steve grimaces, looking in the mirror with a tilted head. “I think it’s a bit..._ much.” _

Bucky hovers behind him, his arms folded over his broad chest, wearing black jeans and a grey v-neck t shirt that hugged his bulk. Since Steve had been released from the hospital a week or so ago, Bucky had finally been cleaning himself up again, looking more human than he had while in the hospital. It was nice to see, and it was _ tempting. As. Hell. _

“I think it’s perfect,” He says firmly, giving a nod of approval as he inspects Steve, head to toe. Steve keeps waiting for him to laugh, to admit that this was a joke, but Bucky's face stays dead serious.“Stark, you’ve outdone yourself.” 

Steve’s reflection showed his small body lost in a suit of bullet-proof, missile-proof verbrainium, covering every inch of him. 

He looks like a little blue Iron Man, if Iron Man’s suit was two feet thick. It was, in all honesty, ridiculous. He could barely move.

Bucky nods approvingly as Tony walked him through all the features of the suit, including automatic defence mode, where Steve could apparently be unconscious inside the suit while the suit fought off attackers and got to safety. 

“It’s failproof, just like you asked. It’s got an oxygen tank in case our little fighter gets an asthma attack in the field, GPS tracking, of course, and an eye-camera so that we can see exactly what’s going on...it shoot regular bullets, has target-tracking, and I’m thinking about making it fly--” 

“I think it’s the one,” Bucky claps his hands together with a grin. He looks absolutely thrilled. “It’s perfect.”

“Uh. It just feels like...a lot,” Steve tries to raise his arm to poke Bucky to get his attention, and finds he can hardly move under the weight of the suit. “If going undercover is the plan for me, I don’t see why I’d need something that could survive being run over by a tank.” 

“Can never be too careful,” Bucky shrugs, patting Steve on the top of the head, his metal hand clanging against the helmet part of the suit. Steve scowls up at him.

“It’s not very _ discreet,” _Steve mutters. “Hydra is going to see me coming from a mile away if you try to send me in with this thing on.” 

“Well, we still have one more prototype to try on,” Tony interjects, pressing a button on Steve’s side that caused the whole suit to open up so Steve could stumble out. “Maybe we use this option for more high-risk situations, hmm? Steve does raise a good point about discretion.” Tony gives Steve a secret wink, like he was doing him a favour by introducing the last option instead of agreeing with Bucky about the mega-suit. Maybe Tony _ was _on his side. 

“Agreed,” Steve murmurs, cracking his neck. The suit was high tech, sure, but it wasn’t the most comfortable thing. He couldn’t imagine wearing it for longer than a few minutes, and he definitely couldn’t imagine trying to run for his life in it, whether it could shoot bullets or not.

“Mm, I dunno, I’m sold on that one,” Bucky shrugs, looking reluctantly at the suit as Tony guides them over to another display. “But let’s see the last one, just in case.” 

Tony walks them over to the fourth and final display, which holds a tiny wrist watch. It doesn’t look like anything special, especially compared to the other three prototypes which had looked like something straight out of a futuristic robot movie. 

“That’s it?” Bucky frowns, immediately suspicious. “That doesn’t look bullet proof to me.”

“Actually,” Tony grins, clapping his hands together and rubbing them. “This one is pretty neat. Steve, put it on.” 

Steve does, buckling up the strap around his wrist and finding it did, indeed, tell time correctly.

It’s a comfortable, but heavy, watch in a sleek black metal that wouldn’t stand out as being something other than a timepiece, and an expensive one at that. Although it was a bit bulky on Steve’s slender wrist, it wasn’t anything uncomfortable or off, and could be easily covered with a sleeve.

He twists his wrist this way and that, and notices a few different buttons on the side of the watch, his imagination already racing with what the buttons could do. 

“Comfortable,” he notes, pleased, looking up at Bucky for a reaction. "Discreet." 

Bucky was squinting at the watch like he was waiting for it to do something to prove it’s worth. “Looks...small,” Bucky says cautiously. “I don’t know, Tony. What’s so special ‘bout this?” 

“I saved the best for last,” Tony shrugs, “This watch contains both offensive and defensive tools, hooks up with the matching ear piece so that we can easily give Blondie here some tips and tricks, and also…” Tony grabs another showcase box, opening it with a flourish. “These glasses transmit to us exactly what you’re seeing, as well as point out who in the room is armed, and can identify key Hydra figures that we have in our system, and with your help, can catalog even more faces.” 

“Okay, now _ that’s _ sweet,” Steve grins excitedly. “I’d be like a _ real _spy with all this stuff!” 

“Oh, young grasshopper,” Tony claps him on the shoulder. “The suit doesn’t make the man. The _ man _ makes the _ suit.” _

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Okay, now, let’s say you’re in a tight situation--you can’t reach for your gun, but you need to do some damage, and quickly. A door could be sealed shut, you could need to decapitate someone, or cut through binding, or all of the above. Aim your hand at that wall over there and press the little button on the side, the round one. And brace yourself.” 

Steve swallows but does as he’s told. Bucky, not entirely trusting the technology, grabs Steve’s hips to steady him in case the kickback knocks him off balance. 

Steve aims a fist at the wall and presses the button as Tony instructed. He watches in amazement as a red laser sears a line right through the wall. As he moves his wrist, the laser moves, carving out a smiley face into the wall. 

_ Steve’s watch could shoot out laser beams. _

“That _ is _cool,” Bucky admitted, but there was still a reservation in his voice. 

“I told you,” Tony grins. “But that isn’t all. If our precious Stevie--”

“--don’t call me that,” Steve mutters, at the same time Bucky grunts, “Don’t call him that.” 

“Okay, easy, easy,” Tony snorts. “Anyway. If our precious _ Steve _is in a pickle and happens to have an asthma attack….hold the watch up to your mouth, Steve.” 

Steve does, and as he inhales naturally on his next breath, a dispenser in the watch puffs his inhaler’s medication into his mouth. 

“That’s cool,” Steve grins. “Really cool.” 

“Unless your hands are tied up and you can’t lift your watch to your mouth,” Bucky argues with a shrug. “I asked for failproof, Stark.” 

“That’s what the laser beams are for, Barnes,” Tony replied sweetly. 

“And I’d hope that if I’m tied up somewhere and having an asthma attack that the back up I was promised when I signed up for this gig--namely you, hotshot--would come to assist me,” Steve snorted. 

“Why take the chance? I think the last suit is the best option,” Bucky repeats again, eyeing the full body armour longingly. 

“I think I’m team fancy-watch,” Steve grins. “What else can it do?” 

“The main feature of the watch is the offensive _ and _defensive stuff I mentioned. Laser beams are cool, but if you tap the face of the watch twice--” Tony begins, but as he’s talking Steve follows the instructions excitedly without waiting to hear the consequence, and his jaw drops as a huge metal disk folds out, the handle wrapping around his forearm securely. “--like that,” Tony finishes smugly. “Tada!”

“Jesusfuckingchrist,” Steve spits out, staring with huge eyes at the shield that clung to his forearm. It was about two and a half feet in diameter, weighing maybe ten to twelve pounds. Steve instantly felt _ awesome. _

“Probably should go pressing buttons without an explanation for what they do first, Ace, who knows what features this thing has,” Bucky says, noticeably a little shaken by the surprise. He was hovering close to Steve, like he was ready to protect him from said gadget. 

Steve bounced his arm slightly, testing the weight of it, the centre of gravity. It was...sturdy. Light enough that it didn’t hinder his movement. “A shield?” Steve murmured curiously. “Interesting choice.” 

“I think it suits you,” Tony says appreciatively. “If you can learn to use it properly, then you wouldn’t have the need for a huge protective suit. It’s much more suited to undercover work, since it can deploy in seconds.”

“You gave him a shield like he’s some sort of--of a medieval knight?” Bucky squints at the thing, as Steve holds it up in front of his face. “What the hell is he supposed to do with a giant frisbee? How is that going to protect him? I thought you were the master of _modern-day_ technology, not shit that makes the 100-year-old man think it’s outdated.”

“Easy,” Steve pokes Bucky’s side, right between his ribs where he knew Bucky was ticklish, scolding his rudeness. Tony had stayed up for hours working on these prototypes, the least Bucky could do was act grateful. Steve knew his abrasiveness stemmed from a place of love, though. Bucky just wanted the safest option for his fiance. 

Tony shrugs, apparently used to Bucky's abrasiveness.

“I like it,” He admits. “It’s fashionable, functional, and lightweight, considering all of the features. t’s attached to his forearm unless he unhitches it, and then it can be used as an offensive weapon, rather than just defensive like I’ve mentioned. We’re going to have to practice a lot with the way he throws and uses the shield, though, because it may not come naturally and he needs to be confident with it,” Tony explains. “But I’ve thought this through, Barnes. I wouldn’t give him something I didn’t think would keep him safe.” 

“Fashionable?” Bucky repeats in astonishment like he couldn't believe that was actually a criterion that Tony was considering. Of course, _ that _was the part that had stuck in Bucky’s brain.

“Well it _ will _be once I finish the paint job I’m planning for it. I’m thinking it would be nice to do it navy blue, to match your tac gear. What do you think? Maybe do a little Howling Commandos sigil in the middle, for flair. I love a good matching power couple.”

“Makes me feel powerful,” Steve interjects quietly, his free hand running along the ridge of the shield. “I don’t want to be wrapped up in some kind of fail-proof metal bubble. This...this feels right,” He presses the button and the shield slides smoothly back into the watch, as quickly as it had popped out. Steve didn’t know the physics behind it, and frankly, he didn’t _ want _to know. The watch was sturdy and comfortable on his wrist, and knowing that the shield was just a couple taps away already gave him a feeling of security. He feels strong. 

Bucky looks longingly back at the suit that had Steve wrapped up head to toe in metal, and then back to the tiny watch on Steve’s wrist. “...is that thing bulletproof?” Bucky sighs wearily, a sign he had given in. 

“Steve,” Tony bows politely. “Please, let’s test it out, for Barnes’s sake, since he has the audacity to question my genius,” Tony walks calmly over to a blank wall, taps a short series of patterns on it, and stands back as the wall flips over to reveal a whole host of weapons. 

Steve presses the button and holds the shield over his face, crouching down behind it. He kind of wanted to know, too. He figured it would be, but to what extent? How much would it take?

“_Tony,” _ Bucky snaps, voice low. “Don’t even _ think _about it--” 

But things happen too quickly, and Tony is way, _ way _too smug. 

He fires three lazy but rapid shots, and Bucky leaps in front of Steve like some cracked up Romeo martyr, blocking two of them with his metal arm. Tony changes the trajectory on the third bullet, and Bucky is distracted trying to yell at Tony to stop. The bullet misses Bucky’s metal hand, sailing past him and towards Steve.

Bucky whips around with wide, panicked eyes to see where the third bullet embedded itself, but it just makes a satisfying _ ding _off of Steve’s shield, and then falls to the floor, as Steve breathes hard, his head tucked low behind the protection of the shield out of pure instinct. 

He pants for a few moments, and when the dust settles, he looks up, his jaw open, his eyes wide. 

“It absorbed the impact!” Steve shouts excitedly. “Holy _ shit, _Tony!” 

“You handled that well,” Tony approves. He points a finger at Bucky, scolding. “_You _did not.” 

“You fired a _ gun _ at my _ fiance!” _ Bucky growls, stalking purposefully towards Tony. His eyes are alight with anger. “Big mistake, Stark. _ Big _fuckin’ mistake.”

Steve grabs Bucky’s flesh hand and pinches the nerve there. It doesn’t make Bucky cry out in pain or anything, but it’s enough to make Bucky blink down at him like, _ what was that for? _

“I’m fine, you overprotective little shit,” Steve glares up at him. To soften the blow, he laces their fingers together. Bucky seems to accept this scolding and settles for a hard glare at Tony instead. His hand holds Steve’s tightly, just barely lingering on the side of pain before Steve clears his throat and Bucky eases up on some of the pressure.

“Don’t do that again,” Steve warns Tony, his tone a little apologetic. “But--yeah! Bulletproof. Confirmed.” 

Tony watches the two of them wearily, their interlaced hands, Bucky’s hard, glaring eyes. “I can see sending you in together is going to be an issue. You’re _ compromised _on a whole other level.” 

“We’re all compromised for each other,” Bucky rolls his eyes, but his voice is hard. He probably didn't like what Tony was implying, that sending them in separately would be better. Steve didn't like that idea either, honestly. He wanted to be with Bucky. “The entire time is best friends. We’re--”

“--family,” Steve finishes with a warm, affectionate smile. “Right?” 

“Family that wants to kill each other sometimes,” Bucky snorts. 

“Family that almost gets killed together, sometimes,” Tony adds happily. “Fine, you’re right. We’re all compromised for each other. But I need you to promise me you aren’t going to be all trigger happy, rushing into danger any time Steve is on a mission.” 

Bucky shrugs. “I promise to do my best to think logically,” Bucky says carefully. “And that’s all I can promise.” 

Tony levels him with a stern look for a moment or two but ultimately rubs his eyes and sighs in resignation. “Fine,” He agrees. “I guess that’s all I can really ask.”

“Knock, knock,” Sam raps lightly on the door, sticking his head in. “Steve? You ready?” 

Steve meets Bucky’s eyes, and Bucky grins. “Let’s do this, hm?” 

“Ready!” Steve calls excitedly. He rushes off towards Sam with a jump in his step, like he didn’t have a care in the world. 

“And so the first day of training begins,” Tony notes wryly to Bucky, as Sam slings an arm around Steve’s shoulders, leading him to the gym floor of the tower, already rhyming off a bunch of drills they were doing to practice. 

Bucky raises an eyebrow at Tony. “Still pissed you shot my fiance, man. We’re not doing this whole..._ sending my kid off to kindergarten _solidarity thing. ‘Kay?” 

Tony bumps their shoulders together and offers a knowing smile. “Jeez, Barnes, cut the cord,” He scoffs playfully. “I shot _ at _your fiance. Get it right.”

***

“It’s so nice to be back here,” Steve murmurs, stretching out on the couch of their original apartment, the one where they had first fallen in love. “But you didn’t water my plants,” he frowns. Bucky looks around to where Steve’s many, _ many _plants were brown and limp, most of them all the way dead or close to it.

“You were dying,” Bucky answered flatly, not feeling the least bit guilty. “I wasn’t driving across the city to water your damn succulents. We’ll get you some new plants.”

Steve pouts a little, but presses his cheek onto Bucky’s shoulder and his toes into Bucky’s lap, letting Bucky wrap his right hand around them to keep them warm. “Sam didn’t work you too hard today, did he?” Bucky squints. “I noticed you were hunched over a bit when we left.” 

“My back’s been bugging me these past few days,” Steve shrugs like it was nothing. The chronic pain that Steve suffered daily was something he never fully let on. Steve must have sensed something from Bucky’s silence, because he adds, “Yeah, Buck. My body is always gonna be workin’ against me. and...I know that that is gonna be a hindrance when I start doin’ this crazy spy stuff.” 

Bucky clenches his jaw. Yet another reason why he thought Steve should stay out of the dangerous world of fighting and Hydra. The last time he had come face to face with them, he’d kicked some ass, sure, but he’d also _ died. _

Bucky knew he wasn’t strong enough to witness that again.

“You can say it,” Steve sighs, after Bucky’s silence. “Go on.” 

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Bucky lies smoothly. He stubbornly presses his face into Steve’s hair, not wanting to talk about it anymore. Nothing he said was going to change Steve’s mind, and he knew that. No point in arguing. 

Steve pulls away and gives him an unimpressed stare. “Buck, I know you. I know that something is on your mind.” He slides off of Bucky’s lap, curling up tightly there, his arms wrapped around himself. The position wasn’t reassuring--Steve looked so _ small, _ like anyone could tear him apart. And his eyes….there was so much _ light _in those eyes. Bucky had always argued that he didn’t want to be the one to put that light out. 

Was it any different if he stood by and watched it fade, as Steve faced the ugliest parts of the world?

"It doesn't matter," Bucky says softly. 

“Buck,” Steve sighs. “It does matter. Talk to me.”

“I--," Bucky tries to find the words. "I’m scared,” Bucky admits finally, in a hoarse voice. “Seeing you, with the shield. With Tony. Steve--this is starting to get...real.” He couldn’t help but imagine all the scenarios that Steve could be put in where he’d have to use the weapons that Tony outfitted him with. 

Bucky didn’t like that idea one bit.

“Do you trust me?” 

Bucky frowns. “Of course I do, but--”

“And do you trust your team? _ Our _team?” 

Bucky’s frown deepens. He could see that Steve was backing him into a corner. “_Yes, _but--” 

Steve claps a cool hand over Bucky’s mouth. “Then no _ buts, _ Barnes. If you trust me, and you trust that I won’t get in over my head, and you trust our team to back me up, then you know I’ll be okay. And like I said before, I didn’t sign anything that binds me in this for life. _ We-- _you, and I--are my first priority. If this is too much for us, I stop. Easy.” 

Bucky lets out a long breath. Steve was a good listener, and he always knew exactly what Bucky needed to hear. Steve was right. Nothing said that Steve was committing to this until the end of time. He could do one mission, hate it...and stop. Just like that.

Of course, this was _ Steve _he was talking about, and he knew that Steve didn’t exactly like to back down from a fight. Steve swore to Bucky once that taking down Hydra wasn’t personal, but Bucky knew better. Steve wanted to be part of the team that took down the people who had hurt Bucky. And for that...Bucky couldn’t really blame him.

“You’re right,” Bucky murmurs, conceding. “We’ll be alright. You’ll be alright.”

“I know,” Steve grins, easily pleased. “Does that mean we can put this conversation to rest?”

“For now,” Bucky allows, pressing a chaste kiss to Steve’s forehead. They didn’t have to fight about it tonight. They could just enjoy the evening, each other’s company. Between Steve’s training, Bucky’s therapy, construction on the tower, and planning the wedding...life was busy these days, and Bucky had learned not to take the quiet moments for granted. 

“Thank you,” Steve murmurs sweetly. The sit in silence for a few moments, enjoying being back in the apartment and in each other's arms. 

Steve's smile soon fades, though, as he readjusts his position on the couch, shifting uncomfortably. Bucky could tell instantly that Steve was in his own head about this whole thing.

“Maybe...Maybe this ain’t fair of me to ask. Buck, I know...I know you’ve been through a lot. Your life ain’t been the easiest, and I know I ain’t made it any easier--”

Bucky frowns deeply, shaking his head. Steve was getting the wrong idea. Loving him had never been a burden on Bucky. If anything, it was what gave him life on his worst days. The fact that Steve could even think that way deeply unsettled Bucky. Bucky was worried about losing him, sure, but wasn't everyone afraid of losing the one they loved? Wasn't that part of it? 

“No, Stevie, that’s not--”

“Lemme finish,” Steve pleads, getting to his feet and grabbing Bucky’s face in both of his palms, staring down at the larger man with wide, teary eyes. “I’m sorry, that I haven’t always been the easiest fella to love,” He clears his throat. “But...I promise, Buck--I _ promise, _ that I will always do my best to come home to you. ‘Cause this? This…” He shakes his head in wonder, pressing their foreheads together and closing his eyes. “_This _is worth holding on to.” 

Bucky surges up, crashing their lips together like a drowning man emerging for a breath of air, picking Steve up as he rose to his feet so the blond didn’t have to stretch up to reach his lips. Steve pressed into the kiss just as eagerly, his hands tangling in Bucky’s hair. 

“Wait--wait!” Steve laughs, pushing on Bucky’s chest. 

Bucky stops immediately, breathing hard, his confused eyes searching Steve’s, wondering if he had done something wrong. 

“Put me down, I was going somewhere with that whole speech,” Steve wiggles in Bucky’s grip, and Bucky sets him down easily, stunned. It wasn’t like Steve to interrupt “_sexy time”. _

Steve didn’t look uncomfortable, but rather, nervous and excited. That was, at least, a little reassuring.

“Steve?” He asks, sounding like a hurt puppy. “What’s wrong?” 

“Just trust me,” Steve gives him a reassuring smile and a kiss on the jaw, which was as close to Bucky’s mouth as he could reach without Bucky bending down a little to help him out. “I’ll be right back,” Steve promises with a soft laugh, peeling away from Bucky.

Bucky stands, feet glued to the same place, as Steve rushes down the hall into the bedroom, watching his blond hair flop as he does.

“Where are you going?” Bucky complained impatiently. He wet his lips, tasting the remnants of Steve there and wanting more. “Come back.”

“Close your eyes!” Steve pleaded, his voice sounding closer. Buck obliges immediately, trusting Steve entirely. “Just _ trust _me, Buck,” Steve laughs again. 

“Don’t shoot me,” He mutters dryly, only half-joking. He hears the old floorboards creek as Steve approaches him, stopping just a few feet away. Something heavy gets set down on the small kitchen table. Bucky’s imagination starts running full of possibilities. “If that’s a dog--”

“Not a dog,” Steve sighs, clearly disappointed with the resignation in Bucky’s tone at getting a pet. “Not yet. That’s coming, though, and you know it. But anyway--just. Open your eyes!” 

Bucky blinks his eyes open, adjusting them to the room. Steve had turned off the main light of the kitchen area, having just the fairy lights around the border of the room to illuminate the space, and on the kitchen table sat a beautiful, vintage-looking record player.

“Steve,” Bucky gapes, his jaw dropping open at the sight of something so familiar and ornate. “It’s beautiful,” The mahogany wood, the gold accents...it looked like something right out of Bucky’s life before the war. “But why?” 

“You deserve nice things, Buck,” Steve beams at him proudly, grabbing the needle with careful fingers. “I figured,” Steve begins softly, as the music begins to play, with just enough static to make it sound _ real, _“That maybe this could bring you some comfort,” He shrugs. “I know s’been a long time since….you listened to music this way…and I’ve always kind of wanted to give you somethin’ from the past. Must be hard having to adjust to all new stuff, y’know?” 

“I could take or leave most of it,” Bucky admits, still in awe. “Modern medicine is pretty great...but this? If I could bring back anything from those days, it would be the music. And now you have.” 

“So I did okay?” Steve blinks up at him, his blue eyes sparkling with the reflection of the fairy lights.

Bucky grabs Steve’s face and kisses him hard. “You did amazing, as always. Thank you,” he breathes against Steve’s lips. Bucky still couldn’t believe this man, this _ good, honest _ man with his kind eyes and his fond smile...was his to keep. It seemed too good to be true from the moment he had first _ almost _-held Steve in his arms, all those months ago, and it still seemed too good to be true, now. “It’s perfect, возлюбленная.”

“Just wait,” Steve promises. He adjusts the needle one last time and then comes back to Bucky, melting in his arms as Billie Holiday’s _ I’ll Be Seeing You _begins to drift from the machine, a little bit of static colouring the music, making it feel authentic. “Remember? Just like when we first danced together.”

Bucky wraps Steve’s arms around his neck, and his own arms tug Steve closer by the hips, lifting Steve’s toes so they rest on top of his. “How could I forget?” Bucky murmured, low in his ear. “That was the night I realized how much I was fuckin’ gone for you, Stevie.” 

“Me, too,” Steve whispers. “I figured, you could...teach me how to dance, for real this time. That way when our first dance at our wedding happens, I won’t be so embarrassed. And...s’nice to remember, you know? To remember how badly we wished for...this.” Steve cups Bucky’s face in his cool hands, rubbing his thumb along the length of Bucky’s cheekbone. “For touch. So that we don’t ever take each other for granted.” 

Bucky shivers, remembering the torment he’d felt, thinking he’d always be in love with Steve and would never, ever be able to touch him. “I remember,” Bucky murmurs. “We’ve been through so much together, kitten. Every day with you, it’s a gift.” 

“And now we’re here,” Steve agrees, looking around at their little apartment in wonder. “We made it, huh? Isn’t that kinda crazy?” 

“By some miracle, we made it,” Bucky confirms, starting to sway to the music, guiding Steve along with him, the soft croon of the music feeding something in his soul he didn’t realize he had missed so dearly. The night felt like it was cut from a movie. “I can’t wait to marry you, Stevie. You got no idea.”

“The sooner, the better,” Steve agrees dreamily, squeezing Bucky a little tighter. “Hey--this ain’t so bad.”

“Yeah? You gonna let me take you dancin’ sometime?” Bucky soothes, beginning to twirl them around the room. In his day, Bucky had been the man that every dame wanted to dance with--he was confident, objectively good-looking, and he _ loved _to dance. 

He’d stay at the dance halls late into the night, walking home three or four girls before he’d drop into bed after sneaking into the house, not wanting to wake up Becca or his parents. 

That lifetime seemed far away, now, but with the music and Steve...that part of himself was right there, under the surface. 

The man who wanted to twirl around the floor, holding someone tight. That someone, the person he had _ wanted, _it had always been Steve. He just had to wait for Steve to exist.

And now he did, and he was wrapped up safe in Bucky’s arms, letting Bucky waltz them around the old hardwood floors, the same ones that Bucky had tread on many times, the croon of Billie Holiday filling the room with a kind of safety that Bucky had never known before Steve.

“Gonna let me show you off like you deserve?”

“Dunno, maybe,” Steve sighs contentedly. Bucky loved that sound--the way Steve’s eyelids drooped half-shut, the way his body pressed into Bucky’s, showing that he just trusted Bucky to keep up the pace of their easy waltz. He felt at ease. “S’long as you don’t let me fall.”

Just like the first time they had danced, the moon showed her face just for them, casting a pale, ethereal glow upon the room, making a halo in Steve’s golden hair. 

Bucky’s angel. The man who saved him from Hydra, from himself. From the darkness in his own head. Steve’s light had always been bright enough to drive away Bucky’s demons.

And, when the time came--if it ever did--Bucky would be the light. He would hush the nightmares, he would hold Steve’s heart. He would keep it safe. 

The light in Steve’s eyes would never go out, because Bucky wouldn’t _ let _it. He would fight for it. 

He had to.

“I’d never let you fall,” Bucky finishes finally, his voice thick with emotion. “Ever.”

“I know that,” Steve smiles, like it’s easy to say. And this, fucking _ this, _is why Bucky was so scared to stand aside while Steve rushed into the heart of Hydra. He had never learned to be suspicious or to build walls. He threw his trust and kindness at anyone he was around, including those who didn’t deserve it--Bucky, for example. 

Steve was his sunshine. His blue eyes had never seen _ true _ evil, not like Bucky had. Steve was able to curl up in Bucky’s arms and breathe easy, feel _ safe, _ because he didn’t know what was out there. “-- _ And _ I know what you’re thinking,” Steve murmurs. 

Bucky blinks out of his trance, resting his chin on top of Steve’s head as they danced. “Hmm? And what’s that, sweetheart?”

Steve snuggles in closer to Bucky’s neck. “You’re worried that working in the field is gonna make me question everything. You think it’s gonna make me...dark.” 

Bucky is quiet for a few moments, waltzing Steve around the room with sure, measured steps. “I want you to feel safe,” Bucky says, choosing his words very carefully. “And after you see...the kind of terrible things that Hydra, does, Stevie, m’not sure how you’re going to feel safe anymore.” 

Steve presses his lips to Bucky’s collarbone. “I ain’t worried ‘bout that one bit, Buck. ‘Cause I got you,” He replies, like that answer was the most obvious thing in the world. “You make me feel safe.” 

Bucky swallows, letting the weight of those words wash over him. To Steve, they may have been light, easy words. To Bucky, they meant the world. He had never felt safe before Steve, either. 

There was something about the comfort of their love, the easy sway of their bodies together in the night, their synced breathing, that made everything seem more manageable. It made the whole world feel safer, somehow. 

The light would never go out of Steve’s eyes, out of his heart...because Bucky wouldn’t _ let _it. Every time Steve was tempted by the shadows, Bucky would waltz him into the light, the same way Steve did for him in his darkest hours. He’d keep Steve’s heart safe.

“You make me feel safe too, Ace,” Bucky rumbles, tugging Steve a little tighter. “хранитель моего сердца.”

“Hmm?” Steve murmurs lazily. “What does that mean?” 

Bucky’s hand slides between them, to raise his dog tags that hung proudly around Steve’s neck to his lips. He presses a soft kiss to them. They’re warm from being pressed between their bodies.

“_T__he keeper of my heart,” _Bucky translates in a soft voice, letting the dog tags fall between them again. “You’ve always been the one who keeps my heart safe,” he echoes the words he had once murmured to Steve when first giving him the dog tags. “And I promise to protect your heart, too, sweetheart. Always.”

“And no matter what happens, no matter what we gotta face,” Steve replies softly. “We’ll do it together.”

“Together,” Bucky promises. As the music crescendos, he guides Steve into a soft twirl, his metal arm supporting Steve’s lower back as he dips the blond, his mouth lingering at Steve’s throat, pressing tender kisses there, feeling Steve’s Adam’s apple bob with the touch. “‘Till the end of the line.” 

Steve tips his chin towards Bucky’s, and the next minute, they're kissing, like it’s inevitable, like that was the only natural thing in the world, the two of them, merged together like two raindrops on a window. Steve fully trusts Bucky to take his weight, pressing into him for all it was worth. 

Everything--the first time they had seen each other, every tear they had cried since, every force working against them that they had fought to be together...it had all led up to this single, perfect moment. The peace. The kiss. The quiet comfort of their love, having someone in your corner, who knows your faults and loves you all the more for them. No matter what else they faced, they would always have this.

“Yeah,” Steve smiles against Bucky’s lips, his fingers knotting in Bucky’s hair. “‘Till the end of the line sounds about right.” 

_ I’ll find you in the morning sun _

_ And when the night is new _

_ I’ll be looking at the moon _

_ But I’ll be seeing you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again, to all of you who have ready, left kudos, and comments. You are wonderful, wonderful creatures.
> 
> 2 epilogues to go! (I couldn't just leave it at one) and then we're DONE. 
> 
> :'(
> 
> I hope you have a lovely sleep tonight. Remember to drink some water and be gentle with yourself, you deserve to be treated tenderly. You are your BEST thing! <3


	30. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This first epilogue begins about 1 year after we left off!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue #1 here we go!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
A little sneak peak at Steve's super-spy work ;)  
next week will the LAST EPILOGUE and thus the official conclusion of this fic :( so bittersweet for me as this is the longest fic I've ever written/finished, and my first stucky fic ever, coming to a close!!

We don't need no fight  
Bring your loving over mine  
And we'll be alright, we've got love  
And every time we vibe, medication for my mind  
All we need tonight is love, love alright

\-- _Tonight is love, _Juke Ross

* * *

“You know,” Steve begins slyly, his fingertip tracing the rim of his champagne glass in a slow, methodical way, his eyes tracing the movement. “I think you’re a very, _ very _special guy, Bar. D’you…mind? If I call you that?” 

Baron Strucker lifts his chin at the nickname, and levels Steve with a pleased, reptilian-like grin. “You may call me whatever you want, Mishka,” Baron rumbles, using the name Steve had gone under. “Just remember that it is _ my _name you will be yelling out later, when I take you out of here.”

Steve bites his bottom lip to look like that idea intrigued and excited him, but his stomach rolled at the very thought of it. This being nearly his thirtieth mission, Steve was more than used to being put in uncomfortable situations with men he didn’t trust a bit...but this was different. 

His target this time was one of the biggest names in Hydra, the last man-on-top for the team to take down before every major player in Bucky’s capture and conditioning was either in their custody or dead. 

No pressure.

No matter where the night took him, Steve _ had _ to make sure Baron Strucker didn’t suspect him of anything, at least until they got back to the hotel room. He had to make sure the team could get him under control. Baron couldn’t get away--not after being underground for so long. 

He was a hard man to find, and now that they had him, Steve wasn’t letting him out of his sight. 

This man had, for the latter period of Bucky’s time with Hydra, wiped him clean, erasing his memory and instilling certain conditioning protocols, like the trigger-phrases that made Bucky drop to the ground in agony, many months ago. 

Thankfully, with Stark’s help, those phrases didn’t work on Bucky anymore, and hadn’t for a long time. But the memory of seeing Bucky like that, of knowing the _ power _that evil men like Rumlow and Strucker once held over him...it made Steve sick. He would never be able to forget, so he could only imagine Bucky’s own trauma and how deeply that impacted him.

This man, who sat across from Steve, had _ hurt _ Steve’s _ husband _ . He didn’t flinch while Bucky had fought and screamed and _ begged. _His pointed smile, his leathery hands...Steve would love to drive his shield right through Strucker’s skull. 

“Steve,” Natasha quips quietly in Steve’s earpiece. “You’ve paused far too long. Answer him.” 

“I can hardly breathe, just thinking about it,” Steve purs, sipping his champagne in small, measured gulps. He had to stay in control. This man was dangerous. He wouldn’t let himself slip up again. He had to stay in the moment, not let the horrors of the past drag him away, as tempting as it was. "You're a tempting man." 

Steve had played many roles in his time working with the Avengers, and this time, he was posing as an escort. After following Strucker for many months--or trying to, at least, since he was a hard man to keep track of--the team learned that Strucker had a habit of using the same escort service three to four times a month, to take out young men and have his way with them after impressing them with his wealth and prestigious reputation. Steve supposed he liked the power trip. 

Fortunately for the Avengers, Strucker didn’t have a favourite boy, he changed it up on a nearly weekly basis, and Steve was _ just _his type. Young-looking, scrawny, could be easily overpowered. 

Getting into the service was almost _ too _ easy. The escort company Strucker preferred was very responsive to blackmail when the Avengers reached out, and thus they were able to include Steve in their system seamlessly, setting him up with Strucker without incident. It was evident that Strucker suspected _ nothing. _

“I must have you,” Baron told him, winking from across the table. "You look ravishing."

Steve wet his lips, swallowing down his distaste. He looks up at Strucker through his thick lashes. “Then take me.” 

Strucker signals for the waiter to bring the check, and Steve’s heart rate escalates. This was the part that always made him most nervous--he had to play the part. If Baron suspected _ anything _from him, the entire mission could be in jeopardy. 

Steve would see it through. 

He’d make sure that the man who’d hurt Bucky would never hurt anyone else, ever again. He’d pay for the crimes he committed.

Steve ran through the game plan one more time: dinner to earn his trust, check. Then, get Strucker back to his pre-bugged hotel room, get him to admit to his role in Bucky’s torture so that he could be convicted, and then wait for the Avengers to come and bring him in. 

Simple. Point A to B. Steve could _ do _this.

He had to. Bucky was counting on him.

“I can’t wait a moment longer,” Baron nearly growls, gathering his things as he gives the waiter his card. “Are you ready to let me have you, Mishka?”

Steve wets his lips deliberately, not looking away. He shifts in his seat, as if he were getting hard at the thought. His acting had gotten a _ lot _ better since Natasha had begun working with him. Even if he still felt like an idiot at times, she had rolled her eyes and promised “_believe me, Rogers, if a man is attracted to you, they won’t even notice the lies”. _

Steve had really played that one up since joining the team. He couldn’t believe how many of Hydra’s men liked...well, twinks, as Tony uncomfortably put it. 

Steve didn’t like it, Bucky could hardly stand it, but...it got the job done. And at least he could be useful, could use the way that the men tended to underestimate him in order to get some justice. 

“Yes, please, sir,” he breathes, fluttering his lashes shamelessly. It never hurt to feed a man’s ego, when trying to win him over--that was another one of Natasha’s proverbs. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Good boy,” Baron grins, getting to his feet. Steve follows, keeping his head down, trying to look as submissive as possible. He lets his shoulders fall in, to appear smaller. He couldn't let Baron perceive him as a threat. "Come, my pet." 

“Hmph,” Bucky mutters through Steve’s comm, his voice nearly a low growl. Steve can practically _ taste _Bucky’s discomfort through that little breath in his ear. He never liked Steve away on missions, especially when he wasn’t in the immediate vicinity, but Steve knew Bucky was especially nervous about this particular mission. Strucker was dangerous, and he had hurt Bucky more times than Steve could fathom. It only made sense for Bucky to be on edge. “He's practically drooling over you, Ace. Fuckin' _asshole_.” 

"Easy," Natasha snaps. "Don't distract Steve."

_Thanks, Nat, _Steve thinks silently. It was hard enough to focus on playing the role he'd laid out, he couldn't listen to his husband bicker in the background, too.

"Well he _is," _Sam allows softly. "A fuckin' asshole, I mean."

Steve coughs discretely into his elbow. Strucker looks back, but Steve simply raises his head once again and stares at Strucker's lips as if he were dying to kiss them. It works; Strucker gives him an approving look and begins walking faster. 

"I think that's code for _shut up," _Natasha translates smoothly. 

She was always good at understanding him.

The limo ride with Strucker is thankfully uneventful.

He apparently wants to wait until the privacy of his hotel room to get his hands on Steve. Steve is thankful for that--it was way too early to blow his cover and it means he doesn't have to endure any uncomfortable...exploration of his body by Strucker.

Steve stares out the window of the limo, watching the streets of Leipzig, Germany, pass them by, the lights and architecture of the city rushing past.

With the exception of his honeymoon, in which Bucky and Steve explored Europe, coast to coast, Steve had never travelled much before working with the Avengers, and often, he wished he had more time to explore the places they visited for missions. 

After being stuck in the apartment for so many years, being unable to see anything but the inside of the same place, day after day, Bucky was eager to revisit the world, the places he’d heard about but had never seen for himself. He’d seen some of Europe during the war, and even more of it during Hydra, but as Bucky explained, being _ in _ a place for a mission or war was entirely different from _ experiencing _a place.

They’d experienced a lot of what Europe had to offer, and had plans to visit other, far-away places when they could get the time off work.

No rest for the wicked, though. Travelling, unfortunately, had to come second to saving the world. _ Sigh. _

When the limo finally rolls to a stop, Baron slides out and offers a clammy hand to Steve to help him out. Steve feigns a blush and accepts, keeping a hold of Baron's hand as he continues into the hotel and the elevator. Baron’s grip on him is strong, and demanding. He was clearly trying to play the Alpha, letting Steve know he was in control.

“Doing great,” Sam approves, through Steve’s comm. “We’re all in the positions. You know what to do from here.”

Steve did. 

“Here it is,” Baron introduces, opening the door of the hotel with a flourish. “A bit quaint for my taste, but…” he trails off, snickering arrogantly at his own private joke.

It _ was _beautiful, marble floors, gold detailing...Steve could imagine where he had gotten the money to afford an escort every week, and to take them to places like this. 

His stomach lurched at the thought. It couldn’t be coming from anywhere good.

“It’s amazing,” Steve comments, with just the right amount of appreciation in his voice. He walks around the perimeter of the room, knowing that the Avengers were stationed so that they could see every window. He makes a deliberate effort to pass by each of them, mostly for Bucky’s sake. Bucky liked a visual cue that Steve was alright. 

They’d learned to do little things like that to keep the other sane. Although Steve’s first missions didn’t always end smoothly, they’d found a system that worked for them. 

“Not as amazing as you, Mishka,” Baron murmurs. _ Gag. _ “You are by far the most beautiful boy Mrs. Invanov has ever produced for me.”

As Steve turns to face Baron, right before the huge bay window, Baron runs a finger from Steve’s temple down to his chin, and then lower, to his clavicle. Steve forces himself not to pull away in disgust. He couldn’t imagine the terrible things those hands had done to Bucky, and to countless other innocent people. Steve didn’t want those hands anywhere _ near _him, and he was certain that Bucky didn’t want them anywhere near Steve, either. 

Steve steps back, laughing good-naturedly, trying to get out of view of the window. He can hear Bucky practically _ seething _through his comm and he didn’t need to make things worse for his husband. 

“Cool it, Sasha,” Steve hears Natasha snap at Bucky through the calm. “He’s fine.” 

“Try to draw him out, Steve,” Sam advises. “Like we talked about.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, sir. You think I’m _ that _ easy?” Steve teases, winking playfully. He _ did _know what to do. If anyone was good at getting people to confess of their crimes, it seemed, for some reason, to be Steve Rogers. Bucky blamed his wide blue eyes, Natasha blamed his small stature and unassuming nature, and Sam blamed his sheer force of will. Whatever it was, Steve knew that it worked.

He always got the truth, sooner or later. Getting the truth, getting it recorded...it made sure that the proper arrests got made. It meant justice. 

"Aren't you?" Strucker challenges. "My sweet call-boy?" 

“Oh no, I’m not easy at all. I like to get to know the men who take me,” Steve repeats the same jargon Baron had used before, a little trick Nat had taught him that makes the person subconsciously trust you more. “Will you tell me about yourself?” 

“Ah, you’re teasing me,” Baron sits down on the bed. Steve can tell from his voice that he is more intrigued than annoyed by Steve’s tactics, though, and that was a good thing. He didn’t want to put Strucker off to the point where he lost interest. It was a delicate balance. Besides--most times, men loved to talk about themselves. “I am a dangerous man, Mishka. You do not want to tempt me.” 

“Dangerous?” Steve grins, biting down on his lip. “I like the sound of that. Tell me more, sir. What is it that makes you _ so _dangerous?” 

Baron arches a brow, taking the bait. “I work for a very, very dangerous organization.” 

Steve walks up to Baron, towering over the man as Baron sits on the edge of the bed. “That doesn’t scare me,” Steve challenges, laughing a little, hoping to rile Baron up just enough. “I’ve made men much worse beg for my body, and the pleasure of my company. You’ll have to do better than that.” 

Baron once again takes the bait, his upper lip curling at that sentiment. Something flares up in his eyes that told Steve that Strucker was eager to prove himself. Perhaps some underlying insecurity caused that fire, perhaps the sheer need to conquer those smaller than him. Steve would never be sure, he couldn't pretend to understand the inner workings of Strucker's mind, or anyone who worked for Hydra, for that matter. 

“I am part of something much too complex for your pretty little head to understand, Mishka. Let’s not talk of such things, let me have at you. I am _ paying _for your time--”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Steve grabs Strucker’s chin, holding him back from trying to kiss him. “I _ said _I want to know more about you. I find you to be a very intriguing man. Won’t you humour me?” 

Baron lifts his chin at the compliment, the anger fading from his gaze in exchange for intrigue. “Is that so?” 

“It is,” Steve agreed, letting Strucker’s jaw go, and strolling casually around the room, scanning for any evidence of a weapon or other Hydra-related belongings, his fingers brushing along the surfaces of the dresser and desk. Baron’s eyes follow him hungrily around the room. “But I’ll lose interest if you don’t keep me entertained. I don’t like to sleep with mediocre men. I want _ powerful _ men. Maybe even...bad men.” 

“I _ am _powerful,” Strucker says stubbornly. Steve can tell he’s getting to him. “Do you think I’m weak, Mishka?” There is an edge in his tone that makes Steve want to smirk in victory. 

“Keep going,” Natasha encourages, obviously hearing the same thing in Strucker’s voice that Steve was. “You’ve got him.”

“I don't have any proof that you _aren't _weak. So what? You’re part of some organization, huh? The mafia is nothing to me. It’s child’s play. Anyone could do it, it says nothing about power._ ” _Steve rolls his eyes. “You probably didn’t even pay for this hotel room yourself. You’re boring me.” He steps away, putting some distance between them.

“Boring you?” Strucker surges to his feet, towering over Steve and glaring at him. _ Ah, there he was. _The fire, the anger. Steve had to be careful with where he took this next, he could tell he was approaching Strucker’s limit. “You want to play games, Mishka?” 

“Steve,” Bucky snaps over his comm. Steve can hear the worry colouring his tone. “Don’t push too hard. He's quick to violence.”

At the same time, Natasha is cooing, “Keep going, you’ve almost got him, Rogers.”

Steve shrugs, looking uninterested, trying to block out the arguing that was going on over his comm between Bucky, who was, as always, worried about Steve’s safety, and Natasha, who was worried about the mission.

Steve steps back, strategically putting a few feet between him and Strucker again. “I love games, sir. If you’re so _ dangerous, _where’s your gun, huh? Where are your drugs? You’re probably just some run-of-the-mill mafia lackey.”

“My sweet boy,” Strucker purrs, grabbing Steve roughly by the chin, halting his casual steps backward and tugging him closer, until their chests were pushed together. Strucker’s breath was hot and rank, washing over Steve’s face as he spoke. “What I do is much more dangerous than _ drugs _ and silly _ weaponry. _ I am the man that people have nightmares about."

Now _that _hit much too close for home. Steve hears Bucky swallow audibly over the comm. 

“Now I’m intrigued,” Steve wraps his arms around Strucker’s neck, wetting his lips slowly, while keeping Strucker’s gaze. He was _ so close _ to getting some real evidence, he just had to push him that little bit further. His heart sped up a little bit as he pushed, knowing that one nudge too far could mean bad things for him and for the rest of the team. He didn’t want to screw this up. “You ever kill anyone, sir? Have you ever...watched life go out of someone’s eyes? Now _ that _is power.”

“Plenty,” Baron scoffs easily, not releasing his grip on Steve’s chin. “But more than that, Mishka, I have _ molded _ the greatest asset Hydra ever saw, and _ he _has killed hundreds. So if _I_ have the power over something that strong, that dangerous...I am close to God.”

Steve had done it. He’d gotten the confession they wanted, but Strucker referencing Bucky as a _ thing _and not a person made Steve’s stomach roll so violently he had to clear his throat just to keep from gagging out loud.

“Perfect, keep him going if you can,” Natasha says approvingly, her voice barely audible in his ear. “The more he confesses to the better. Nicely done, Rogers.”

“Hydra?” Steve repeats, making the name clumsy on his tongue, as if he had never said it before. It works because Baron’s smile grows. “You’re lying. Everyone knows Hydra was mostly taken out during the war.” The media coverage of Hydra since Bucky had joined the team had definitely been better than Steve was giving credit for, but he figured playing dumb was safer than appearing as if he had already educated himself on Hydra and the different facets. 

“Hardly!” Baron scoffs. “Hydra is as strong as ever, and with my help, we created a dangerous, deadly weapon. Do you like the sound of that, Mishka? I can feel you tremble in my grip,” Baron grins, all sharp teeth and hungry eyes. “The Asset could tear people apart. I stripped him over _ everything _ that wasn’t useful to us. I didn’t flinch. He knelt for me. He did as I told him and he killed who I wanted dead. I decided _ who lived _ and _ who died. _” 

“My god,” Steve lets out involuntarily, his reaction so immediate that he couldn't help it. He then wants to clap a hand over his own mouth to keep from saying anything stupid. “You are a very bad man, indeed, sir,” His voice doesn't have quite the gusto to make it sound the level of intrigue that Steve wished. It's more raspy, unsure. Afraid. What was going through Bucky's head, listening to this? His attacker, bragging about all the ways he made Bucky suffer.

His words work anyway. Strucker, apparently, doesn't mind inspiring fear. "Yes," He grins wider. "Exactly." 

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice relaxes something inside of him. Bucky knew him better than anyone--he could tell, likely just from the silence or Steve’s change in breath, that his husband needed some reassurance. “It’s okay. I’m alright. Keep going. You’re doing great.” 

"I'm impressed," Steve says faintly, trying to regain his composure. 

“Will you let me have at you now, Mishka? You’re tempting me beyond control…”

Steve swallows down the wave of disgust that rips through him at Baron’s words. He had to keep it together, for his team’s sake. Taking Baron in would be _huge. _Bucky deserved this. Baron deserved the punishment that awaited him.

“You made him dangerous, hmm? How did you manage to control such a dangerous weapon? You must be very strong...” 

“Extremely,” Baron snickers. “Look at me? Do I look like a weak man? I take what I want. I do what I want. I wiped the Asset clean, every time, like hardware ready to be reloaded with a new update. Easy, like machinery.”

“Heartless,” Steve choked out, going suddenly rigid in Baron’s grip. “Tell me more.” 

Strucker was too entranced, living his own ego-trip, and he didn’t catch Steve’s change in demeanour. He was reliving his _ glory days, _with Hydra. With Bucky.

“He may have escaped my grip for now. But I _will _get him back. He will serve me again."

Steve's heart shuddered at the very idea. "How will you do that? If he's escaped, you must have lost your grip on him," Steve's act was giving way to something deeper, hotter. Fiercer. "You must be weak."

Baron's smile drops into something more animal, his lips peeling back from his teeth. "Well. I will tell you this. He _screamed, _ Mishka, at the top of his lungs. And when you can make someone do that, you are powerful. Feared. I will get him back because he fears me--as he should. I am heartless. I _ am _dangerous. I didn’t flinch. I wiped him until there was nothing left, no room for error--”

Steve loses it. “--no room for humanity?” He interrupts, his voice hard. He couldn’t play along with Strucker any longer, he couldn’t pretend like this was a man he could even stand to breathe the same air as. The facade was up. 

“Indeed,” Baron hummed, his eyes narrowed down at Steve. “You have a fire, Mishka. Did I upset you?”

“Don’t!” Natasha snaps in his ear. “Steven, _ don’t. _Not yet. We can get more out of him. I know we can.” 

Steve knew Natasha had a point. He knew he was being unprofessional, that he was letting his temper get the best of him...and yet he couldn’t stop. He saw red. Baron Strucker had haunted Bucky’s nightmares for long enough. Steve wouldn’t stand by and listen to him brag about it. 

“You’re a _ monster,” _ Steve snarls, his hands curling up into tight fists. His Stark-given glasses warned him that Baron was carrying a gun and a knife, but he could care less. He had gotten confident with his shield both in practice and during actual missions. He could squash this man like a bug, and felt he had every right to do so. “Bucky Barnes is a _ person, _you asshole, and a damn good one.” 

Steve sees the moment Baron’s guard goes up, the moment he realizes that this was more than a regular encounter with a curious escort. 

Baron draws a gun and clicks the safety _ off. _He points it at Steve’s head, right between his eyes. 

“Who the hell are you?” Baron growls, advancing on Steve. “Huh? You want to die?”

Steve taps the face of his watch and his shield folds out smoothly. He grips the leather strap with white knuckles. He felt ready. 

“Dammit, Rogers,” Sam growls, the sound of rustling in the background, movement. They were heading for him. “We’re coming.”

“Sorry, not sorry,” Steve huffs back, under his breath. “You’re gonna start talking, Strucker. You’re going to tell us _ everything _ we want to know, or you’re going to die a very slow, painful death. _ Personally, _I’d really rather you pick option number two, just ‘cause,” Steve shrugs, grinning dangerously. “Well just ‘cause I know you deserve it.” 

“You bastard,” Strucker growls. “I still have work to do with Hydra. Important work. You will _ not _have me!” He fires six rapid shots at Steve, who uses the shield with ease to dodge them, reflecting the bullets back at Strucker. 

“You gonna make this difficult, Strucker?” Steve sighs, approaching him with a slow, calculated walk. His heartbeat was slow and steady, his muscles were relaxed but poised, ready for action. He inhaled and exhaled in measured, even breaths. He had learned how to keep his calm during encounters like this. It helped his asthma, it helped his performance, and it helped Bucky’s worrisome self stay a little bit calmer during missions. Everyone was able to breathe easier when Steve was, it seemed. 

“Steve, enough theatrics, we’re coming in,” Natasha grumbles. She sounds thoroughly disappointed. “Looks like we’ll be home in time for Tony’s movie night after all.” 

“Ugh,” Bucky whimpers, though he sounds distracted, not fully committed to playing the part of mildly-annoyed superhero. He was probably just worried about Steve. “I hate team movie nights.”

“Not true,” Sam snorts into Steve's ear. “You love them. You gonna let Natasha french braid your hair again?” 

“Shuddup, you little ass--” There is a light _ whack _sound and Bucky cuts off short. Steve can only assume Natasha hit him upside the head to shut them both up. 

Missions with Sam and Bucky stationed at the same post were _ always _interesting. Those two had a dynamic that even Steve didn’t want to unpack. 

Footsteps pounding down the hallway--sounded like Sam’s--made Strucker look up sharply, probably realizing for the first time that Steve had back up. Steve adjusts the shield, getting a better grip on it. This wasn’t exactly how Steve had _ wanted _this mission to end, but it was effective, nonetheless. Strucker looks towards the door and then towards the window. 

“Don’t even think about it, man,” Steve groans, already winding his arm up. Strucker takes a step towards the window and reaches for it, as if he were about to pry it open. “C’mon. Seriously? Suicide?” 

“You cut off one head--” Strucker begins with a deep voice, pulling the window open. Steve couldn’t possibly stand to hear the rest of it. He was tired and he wanted to go home. He wanted to watch Natasha braid Bucky’s hair and eat brie cheese and fancy little crackers. He wanted _ movie night, _dammit.

Steve tossed the shield at Strucker's ankles, buckling him to his knees, crying out in pain. The shield comes back to him like a boomerang, and he grips it tightly. "You are nothing," Steve says easily, stepping closer with measure, deliberate steps. "You have lived as nothing. You'll die as nothing. You won't be remembered. You'll be buried in an unmarked grave." 

Strucker's eyes fill with horror as he stares up at Steve. "You know nothing about my legacy," he snaps, but his voice is weak, barely above a whisper. 

"You're right. Your legacy will be as the rat who helped the Avengers put an end to Hydra," Steve scoffs, watching Baron with disgust. "You should be thankful. You finally have the opportunity to give your pathetic life some meaning." 

"Oooh, you tell him!" Sam says approvingly. Steve can hear a smile in his voice. 

Strucker looks just about defeated, his ankle at least fractured if not broken entirely, but there is a glimpse of something in his eyes that makes Steve hesitate to turn his back. 

Just as Steve is about to put his shield back into the watch, Strucker uses the last of his energy to jump to his feet, advancing quickly towards Steve, a crazed look in his eyes. A man who had nothing left to loose. 

"Heil!" Strucker cried, launching himself towards Steve. 

Steve had no fucking patience left for this asshole. 

“Oh, for the love of all that is holy, man, just shut up,” Steve pleads, tossing his shield like a frisbee, aimed right at Strucker. 

It hits Strucker through the middle, throwing him against the wall and knocking him unconscious. He falls to the ground like a limp doll, with a satisfying _ thump. _Steve grabs his shield and it folds up neatly back into the watch, watching Strucker for any signs of movement. It was oddly anti-climactic. 

He scratches the back of his neck, waiting for the rest of the team. 

The door bursts open at the same time Bucky and Nat crash through the windows, glass flying everywhere. It was incredibly dramatic, considering the perp at hand was already unconscious on the floor. 

Sam runs in through the door, taking a long look at Strucker, lying like a broken doll under Steve’s shield, and stopping in his tracks, eyebrows raised.

“Well now I feel kinda stupid for rushing in here, man!” Sam said, grabbing some fancy electric handcuffs. He slides them on Strucker and hauls the man over his shoulder. 

“Agreed. It was a little dramatic for my taste,” Natasha comments dryly. “We’ll work on that.”

“Are you _ kidding?” _Bucky shoves past Natasha and grabs Steve’s by the shoulders. 

Steve winces, bracing for a lecture about what he did was _ dangerous _ or _ stupid, _or whatever else the mother-hen of a husband he’d secured thought about his actions. 

But instead, Bucky just crashes Steve into his broad chest, cradling the back of his head with a large hand. 

“You did it,” Bucky murmurs into Steve’s hair, his voice thick with something that could have been relief. Steve is surprised to hear how vulnerable his voice sounded--Bucky didn’t often get like this in public. “You got him.” 

Steve hugs back fiercely, understanding right away. 

Baron Strucker was a man who, alongside Brock Rumlow, had haunted Bucky’s dreams frequently. Now, like Rumlow, Strucker wasn’t a threat. He couldn’t hurt anyone else, and the Avengers were going to be able to get the information out of him that would lead to even more arrest like this one. They were one step closer to taking Hydra down for good, and Steve had _ helped _with that.

He felt _ good. _ A year ago, Steve hadn’t been able to throw a punch without staggering off balance. Now he was working with the Avengers, he was taking down some of the biggest, baddest guys around. He was helping his husband make the world _ safer. _

Not for the first time, Steve was struck with how incredibly grateful he was for his life.

“You’re safe,” Steve whispers, his voice low enough in Bucky’s ear that the others wouldn’t hear. His arms hold Bucky in a vice-like grip. “We’re okay.”

“You’re okay,” Bucky confirms, looking Steve over, his hands patting Steve down methodically. It was like clockwork--he always liked to check Steve out for wounds once the missions were done. He never quite believed that Steve faced the villains and got away unscathed, he had to see it with his own two eyes. “We’re alright.”

“Let’s get out of here before hotel management comes peeking in about their broken windows,” Sam urges, readjusting the limp Strucker on his shoulder. “And this guy is heavier than he looks.”

“You ready to go home?” Bucky asks with a smile, interlacing his metal fingers with Steve’s hand. 

“Ready as ever,” Steve yawns, the exhaustion of the day finally hitting him. “I’m gonna need about three showers to wash that shitbag off of me. And I am _ never _ using the name _ Mishka _again. He ruined that codename forever.”

“Showering? Yeah, I’ll help,” Bucky grins contentedly. His flesh hand lightly whacks Steve on the ass, making him jump a little and giggle. 

“No PDA on missions!” Natasha flicks Bucky’s ear as she walks past them. “The team took a vote, remember? You two are _ unbearable_.”

“Remember when we were all sure they’d get it out of their system on the honeymoon?” Nat grumbles. “We were so naive.” 

“We should have known,” Sam agrees with a sigh.

Guiltily, they separate their hands. Bucky gives him a secretive wink that still made Steve’s heart flutter.

“Oops, our bad,” Steve whispers, not feeling bad in the slightest. 

Once Natasha was in front of them, Bucky grabbed Steve’s chin and planted a lingering kiss there, pulling back slowly, his eyes full of relief and happiness. It was, Steve could admit, a good look on Bucky. Then again, most things were. 

“I saw that!” Natasha scolds, without turning around. “Ради бога, let’s just go home. The jet is waiting on the roof.” 

Steve and Bucky give a lazy salute. “Yes ma’am,” Steve nods, fighting a smile. “Wait--can we get pizza first? I’m starving.” Baron had taken him out for dinner but the food was something Steve didn’t recognize, and he’d just picked at it, unable to eat and without appetite. He’d been too nervous

“I could eat,” Sam shrugged with some difficulty, due to the large, unconscious man still strung over his shoulder. “Pizza sounds good.” 

“Pizza,” Bucky hums, nodding his head. “Pizza is a _ yes.” _

Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose, searching for the strength to put up with the testosterone she’d been left to deal with all alone. “We’re in _ Germany.” _

“Germany has pizza,” Bucky interjects, with a roll of his eyes, as they turn the corner and head for the elevator. “I know a place. You in?” 

Sam pats Baron’s head condescendingly as they walk. “I think Steve whacked him pretty good. We’ll take him with us to be sure he doesn’t wake up and try to fly the jet away or something.”

“What pizza joint is gonna let us in with an _unconscious_ _man _strung over your shoulder?” Natasha throws her hands up in the air. “You’re ridiculous.”

Steve snorts. “You’re ridiculous, Nat,” He interlocks his fingers with Bucky’s one again. “We’re obviously going to get takeout.” 

Bucky giggles at that, and bumps his shoulder into Steve as they share their secret laughter behind Natasha’s back, who is still pretending to be grumpy even though Steve _ knows _that she’s delighted with their successful mission and glad no one got hurt. 

“Proud of you,” Bucky tells him, as they let the others get a few feet ahead, holding the elevator as Bucky and Steve lazily follow behind, squishing in. 

Steve presses easily into Bucky, closing his eyes and letting the reality wash over him as the elevator descends. Baron Strucker was in their custody. One more person who’d hurt Bucky was going to pay for what he’d done. He would be _ useful. _

From this, more arrests would come, more information...and they were one step closer to shutting down Hydra for good. No one got hurt. Bucky had trusted him, once again, to complete the mission. And he hadn’t let Bucky down. 

Steve presses his head to Bucky’s shoulder, the rough tac gear pressing into his cheek. It smelled like gunpowder, but Steve didn’t mind. 

“I’m proud of you,” Steve echoes softly. 

“How far is this pizza place?” Sam interrupts. “Anyone wanna take turns? Nat?” Sam gestures to Strucker’s body. “How about you, Enhanced-asshole?” 

“Don’t talk about my asshole,” Bucky glares. “You’ve got ‘em. Build up some strength, noodle-man.” 

“Noodle-man!” Sam scoffs, affronted. “I’ll have you know that I have actually _ gained _a healthy amount of muscle these past few months--”

“Boys,” Natasha quips tiredly, her eyes closed like she was trying to find some zen in the chaotic elevator. “I’m getting _ hangry _. Shut. Up.”

“So you _ do _want pizza,” Sam arches a brow, grinning madly. “Knew it.” 

“It’s not far,” Bucky nods. “A couple of blocks.”

“Fine,” Natasha sighs, stepping out of the elevator as the doors open on the main floor lobby. Steve hangs back, letting Natasha and Sam pile out first, he and Bucky following behind them, still holding hands, the two of them leaning into each other. 

Steve couldn’t imagine what they must have looked like to the local civilians. Natasha, in full black tac-gear, beside Sam, who was also in all-black rather than his traditional falcon suit, carrying an unconscious man over his shoulder, with a man with a metal arm holding the hand of a tiny blond, following behind them. No wonder people were staring.

And yet, Steve didn’t care a bit. 

“You said...you were proud of me?” Bucky looks down at him, his face so open and vulnerable like he wasn’t sure what had hit him. Steve’s attention snaps back to his husband. “Me?”

“Mhm,” Steve smiles, bumping their shoulders together. “You were brave tonight, Buck.” Steve didn’t have to go into the details. He knew Bucky would understand what he meant. 

Strucker was the last big name there regarding the Hydra men who had hurt Bucky that was still alive. Bucky had stepped back, he had let Steve handle things. 

Steve knew that couldn’t have been easy for him. Bucky was probably on edge the whole time, a lot more than he was letting on. But he’d done it. 

He’d even rode in the elevator with Strucker (albeit he was unconscious), and he’d been at _ ease _doing so. These were huge steps for Bucky, and Steve was radiating with pride.

Bucky smiled softly. “You make me brave,” He murmurs quietly. “You were pretty brave yourself, you know that?”

Steve grinned back up at him. “Yeah, I was, wasn’t I?” 

Natasha was by the reception desk, probably paying the hotel management for the damage and warning them not to ask questions. The man behind the desk was wide-eyed and nodding quickly, clearly not eager to disobey Natasha. She jabs a finger in his chest and he swallows, his adam apple bobbing. With that, she turns and walks away, a pleased smirk on her face. 

“You guys coming, or what?” Sam pants from the entrance of the hotel lobby. 

“Coming!” Steve laughed, loosening his tie just a bit. “We’re coming.”

Bucky smacked his ass lightly as Steve ran ahead to catch up, and Steve gave him a playful grin over his shoulder in retaliation. Natasha rejoins the group too, and the four of them bump shoulders and curse playfully on their way to the pizza joint Bucky had promised, Strucker still dangling limply over Sam’s shoulder, getting stares from lots of locals. 

***

Later that night, Tony Stark’s living room would be filled with superheroes, and Lucky, and Steve, and they would complain about having Team Movie Night right after a mission but they’d all secretly be glad. 

Some movie Steve couldn’t remember the name of would be playing on the giant TV, and Bucky would wrap his strong arms around Steve’s shoulders, and Steve would tuck his toes under Bucky’s thigh to keep them warm. 

Clint would make a joke about the three of them taking too long on the mission, and Sam would bring up the pizza story, and they’d all laugh about Steve eating nearly an entire pie to himself, or Bucky trying to order a taxi back to the hotel with his clumsy German when Sam got too tired of lugging Strucker’s unconscious body around and they had to get back to the jet.

They would be warm, and safe, and _ together. _Baron Strucker would be handcuffed in the very same cell that had once held Bucky, twenty floors below them. He would never hurt another soul again. He would be of use to the Avengers, and Bucky’s heart could begin to heal from the trauma Strucker caused.

Steve’s husband would breathe, slow and steady, beneath him. He would press kisses into Steve’s hair when he felt like it, and murmur sweet nothings into Steve’s ear.

“You did good, kid,” Tony would yawn, patting Steve’s head. He would give Steve a lazy smile, nodding slowly, his face lit up only by the glow of the moon and the TV. “You did good.” 

Steve would fall asleep easily that night, in the circle of Bucky’s arms. He would dream of his gunshots and spilled blood, as Bucky feared he would when this whole thing began...but he would be okay. 

He’d wake up, in the 3:00 AM darkness of Tony’s living room, to see his friends, sleeping silently around them, and Bucky, solid beneath him, the TV still rolling some late-night talk show. 

Steve would take a deep, steadying breath, and curl up tighter in Bucky’s embrace. 

“Stevie?” Bucky would mumble, half-asleep. 

“Love you,” Steve would reply softly, closing his eyes. 

Bucky’s soft snores would pick up again, as Steve’s only reply. He didn’t have to say it back--Steve _ knew. _

Steve would let that sound chase away the nightmares. 

He would press a kiss to Bucky’s collarbone.

He would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! I'm sending you all love and hugs. I hope that you're finding some comfort in the fandom in these uncertain times <3 I am thinking about you all and am on Tumblr as wincestplease if you'd like to chat! 
> 
> See you next time🥺


	31. to see someone you care about that way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh I'm so emotional. This fic has been such a crazy journey! My first ever stucky fic, and it's over 212k!! I may have gone a LITTLE crazy, adding in basically as many tropes as one fic could handle, but...hey. it all worked out okay in the end ;) 
> 
> A huge thank you to all my readers, but especially those who have stuck with me since day one and comment your love on every chapter....you know who you are. You make my week, each time. 
> 
> Anyway, I'll shuddup, and I'll see you at the end! 
> 
> Please see the end notes of the chapter for translations!

I'll comfort you as best I can  
If you need, if you need me you can call  
If you need, if you need if you need me baby  
To see someone you care about that way  
That must be what people mean when they say  
They know God  
To see the strength in someone that you know  
That must be what people mean when they show  
They know God  
'Cause I believe in you

\- They Know God (But I Know You), _Peter & Kerry _

* * *

“Buck?” Steve stage-whispers, throwing his weight on top of Bucky, straddling him. “Buck? You up?”

“Оставь меня в покое.” Bucky mutters, his eyes closed. 

Steve rolls his eyes, pushing down at Bucky’s muscular chest with two hands. The man doesn't budge.

“Wake up!” he demands urgently, “Also, English would be preferable.” 

Bucky squints up at him with one eye open. “Христос. Why do you have so much energy? Didn’t we make love like twenty minutes ago? You should be Jell-O by now.” Bucky blinks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with a soft groan, his metal hand resting on Steve’s thigh, covering the width of it easily. “Am I losing my touch?” 

“Hardly,” Steve snorts, pressing a soft kiss to Bucky’s nose. Steve still had a deeply satisfied hum throughout his body--if anything, the more time they spent together, the more they learned each other bodies, and what was already amazing began to build into something next-level. “That was two hours ago, Buck. I woke up like, I dunno, thirty minutes ago. Because guess what?”

“Hmm?” 

Steve frowns down at him, suspicious that Bucky didn’t catch on right away. He was the one who had been counting down the days for weeks. “It’s Sunday.” 

“Mm, Sunday,” Bucky yawns, tugging Steve closer. He forces Steve’s face into his neck and closes his eyes again. “Sunday is a good day. We do pancakes on Sundays.” 

Steve struggles to be free but Bucky’s grip is strong. He kicks his legs and Bucky snorts into his hair, laughing. “Lemme go, you big lug!” 

“Sunday is a good day,” Bucky repeats. “Pancakes.” 

Steve frowns into Bucky’s neck, pushing his hands hard against Bucky’s solid chest in an attempt to getaway. Bucky kisses his temple, unperturbed by the struggle he was putting up. “Do you remember what today is?”

“Nope...don’t seem to recall it being special or nothin’...” Bucky trails off sleepily, but Steve can hear the smile in his voice, and he knows Bucky is playing with him. 

“Is that so?” Steve presses suspiciously. “S’only been _ five _ years since we said _ I do _... s’nothing special…” 

Bucky’s snorting becomes full-on laughter. He grabs Steve’s face in both his hands and kisses him, hard, his tongue licking curiously into Steve’s mouth. Just as Steve is preening under the attention, ready to _ get down to business, _Bucky pulls back, smiling softly. “Happy anniversary, возлюбленная.”

“Happy anniversary, Buck,” Steve smiles back just as sweetly, rolling his eyes. “Jerk. You had me there for a second, you know.” 

“I know,” Bucky sighed happily, rolling them so he was hovering on top of Steve. “You didn’t _ really _think I’d forget, did you? After five years?” 

Steve arches a brow at Bucky’s sleepy face, and then lets out a defeated sigh. “No. You’re too much of a romantic to forget.” 

“Hmm,” Bucky kisses Steve’s neck. “Do you think we have time...before?” 

“I think so. I haven’t heard a peep since I’ve been awake,” Steve grins, leaning up to press their lips together. He was more than ready for a round two. Bucky, in the soft morning light, shirtless, with bed head? Yeah, Steve was drooling already, thank you very much. 

Bucky chuckles darkly against Steve’s skin, his lips pressing hungry kisses down his neck and along his jaw.

Five years hadn’t changed them much. 

They still lived in the very same apartment that had led Steve to Bucky, both of them much too attached to the place to let it go, albeit with some nicer furniture, including enough seating for the entire team to hang out in the living room. 

Bucky was still completing missions with the Avengers, although it was on a less frequent basis, now that Hydra had been pretty much eliminated, except for a few small factions that were scattered around Europe. The Avengers sent foot soldiers in to clean up those places, since they were weak and unorganized, and thus easy enough to bring down.

Steve was back to doing classes at the VA after taking the past year or so off, which is what he really loved, to help people with his art, but he also took the odd mission here and there, just to keep up on his skills. 

They both had a lot of time at home, though, these days, which was good. 

Bucky had the beginnings of crow’s feet around his eyes when he smiled, and Steve’s back pain had been getting worse--he’d even found a few white hairs in Bucky’s stubble the other day...but other than those few signs of the years passing by, things were mostly unchanged.

“Daddy! Papa!” 

Oh...right. Except for maybe one _ tiny _new addition.

Bucky grins toothily, rolling off of Steve with a soft sigh. “Here comes trouble.”

Steve slides off of the bed with a light chuckle, their sexy-time interrupted. It would have to wait until later. He pulls on some sweats and unlocks the bedroom door, swinging it open. 

Sarah comes flying in, her tiny bare feet padding quickly into the room, her blond hair mussed from sleep, poking up in many different directions. 

“Mornin’, sugar,” Bucky croons adoringly at her, already opening his arms to lift her onto the bed as she gets close. She accepts this offer happily, making room for herself between Steve and Bucky. “Someone climbed out of their big girl bed again, I see.”

“A little escape artist, just like her daddy,” Steve agrees, pressing a kiss to Sarah’s nose. She smells like sleep and baby powder. “Good morning, peanut.” 

Sarah Rebecca Barnes came into their life when they least expected it. 

Two years ago, when they’d been on a mission in Tyumen, Russia, they’d found Sarah abandoned in a ruined bassinet, just a few miles away from the Hydra facility, when Steve had wandered off from the mission upon hearing an infant crying.

She had been so tiny then, just a few months old, at most, with a tuft of blonde hair and the biggest, bluest eyes Steve had ever seen. Beside her head was a note that read _ прости меня-- “forgive me”. _

The moment their eyes had met, Steve had known that he was destined to find that little girl, and when he reached in for her, her tiny hands grabbed onto his finger and held on so tightly he couldn’t help but burst into tears. Sarah, on the other hand, had halted her wailing the minute their skin touched, like Steve’s presence alone had been enough to comfort her.

He’d scooped her up, held her close, tucking her into his jacket to warm her up, and had found Bucky, telling him everything. 

Bucky, too, was gone for her the minute he held her in his arms. There was never any discussion on _ if _ they should do something--only _ how. _They had spoke briefly about having kids, but had never really decided on anything, until Sarah came into their lives. Then there was no choice--she had belonged to their hearts the minute they met.

That day, with the help of Pepper who pulled a few strings to make it happen, they left Russia with Sarah. A few months later, their adoption was official, and she was theirs. 

To this day, Bucky calls her their miracle baby--it’s uncanny, the way she nearly resembles them both. Blonde hair like Steve’s, curly, like Bucky’s. The same blue eyes as Steve, Bucky’s crooked smile. 

She was theirs in every sense of the word, and she had them both wrapped around her finger.

Truly, Sarah had _ every _Avenger wrapped around her finger. There wasn’t anyone she met she didn’t charm with her grin and high-soprano laughter. 

“Love you,” Sarah tells Bucky easily, out of nowhere. She’d just learned to say those words not long ago, and whenever she uttered them a part of Steve melted. 

Bucky blinks dreamily at her. Steve would always fall in love with the way that Bucky loved Sarah--he didn’t think such a thing was possible, until he experienced it himself. 

He was amazed by how seriously Bucky had taken the role of father, teaching Sarah about her Russian heritage when he could, and even teaching her the language with great success. 

Bucky tickles her round belly lightly, making her giggle--and _that _was the happiest sound on earth. “Love you more, Умная девушка.” 

“What about me!” Steve pretends to be offended, propping himself up on his elbow to raise an eyebrow at her. “Where is _ my _love?”

“Love you, papa!” Sarah reassures him. She grabs his ears and presses a slobbery, baby-kiss to his cheek. “Love you!” 

“I love you too, little one,” Steve coos, peppering her head and cheeks with kisses while she squeals beneath him, her tiny arms and legs going a mile a minute.

“Papa!” She yelps, through her laughter. “It tickles!” 

“What did I teach you, Умная девушка?” Bucky prompts, as Steve attacks her with more kisses, his fingers tickling lightly at her sides. “Remember?” 

Sarah looks over to Bucky through her fits of delighted laughter and then grows very serious. “Help!” Sarah cries out, and at the same time, she reaches her fingernails for Steve’s face. 

“Okay!” Bucky’s metal arm shoots out just in time to stop her from actually scratching at Steve. “Remember, we only _ practice _on Papa and Daddy, we don’t actually hurt them.”

Steve watches with an amused expression, staring at his husband. This was a new development. Bucky sometimes took Sarah to Daddy-and-Me yoga classes, but now Steve wonders if he really took her to the gym in the Tower and taught her how to seriously mess someone up. She was only a toddler, but smart as a whip, and Steve wouldn't put it past either of them. 

“Sorry, Papa,” Sarah says sweetly, offering a toothy grin. 

“You taught our daughter self-defence? When?” Steve gapes quietly, looking between Sarah, who looked completely composed, and Bucky, who looked about as proud as a peacock. 

“She has an ex-assassin and a spy as her parents,” Bucky snorts, tugging Sarah close to his body with his metal arm and running his fingers through her blond curls. 

When they first got Sarah, Bucky refused to ever touch her with his left hand, too afraid that he would hurt her accidentally, since she was so small and malnourished. 

As she grew stronger though, she often reached for the metal hand alone, intrigued by the way the light bounced off of it. 

Eventually, with some coaxing, Bucky trusted himself more and more. Now, he didn’t even think about which hand to touch her with, and his affection for her came easily. The two of them were inseparable.

“I think it’s a good skill to begin teaching her, just in case. Also...Auntie Nat wanted to give her a play knife to begin practice with, but I shot that one down. You’re welcome.” Bucky whispers above Sarah’s head. 

His eyes widen in shock, though he knows he shouldn’t really be _ that _surprised. “Thanks,” Steve says sarcastically. 

“Crazy, right?” Bucky shakes his head. “We have to at _ least _wait until she’s three.” 

Steve gapes at him again, and opened his mouth to start going off about that statement, when Sarah tugs on Bucky’s hair lightly, making Bucky stick out his tongue at her.

Steve didn’t want to think about the possibility of Sarah ever being put in harm’s way, but it was something that he and Bucky had discussed. With Hydra mostly out of the picture, Steve felt safer having her out with him in public, but he was always watchful, never letting go of her hand until they were back in the apartment. 

They’d upgraded the security system on the apartment to something Stark approved of, and Steve _ would _consider their place safe, but. He still worried, as did Bucky. 

“Sarah,” Bucky begins excitedly, rolling over off of his back to face her. “Do you know what today is?”

Sarah frowns, blinking her huge eyes up at Bucky, trying to put the pieces together. “Auntie Nat’s house?” She wonders aloud, her head tilting curiously. 

“If you want, we can go see Auntie Nat later,” Steve agrees. Keeping Sarah away from the rest of the Avengers was impossible. She loved her aunts and uncles, and they couldn’t help but dote on her as well. Tony had tried building her a flying toy car that she could fit inside of to ride around in, but Steve and Bucky had shot that idea down _ quickly. _ They didn’t need their already active two-year-old being able to fly. “Today is a _ special _ day, though, peanut,” Steve grins. 

“We have cake?” Sarah confirms, a delighted smile lighting up her face. Bucky hides his laughter in her golden hair. She had Bucky's sweet tooth. 

“Later,” Steve promises. “But today is Daddy and Papa’s anniversary. Can you say _ anniversary?” _

Sarah squints at him. “‘Nanniversary,” she tries, and then blinks up at Steve, waiting for his approval.

Bucky kisses her nose and beats Steve to it. “Very good, Умная девушка.” 

She preens under the praise, looking quite proud of herself. 

“Today, long before you were born, Daddy and Papa fell in love and got married,” Bucky explains patiently to her. Her blue eyes are locked on his, trying to make sense of the words. 

“When Daddy was a ghost?” Sarah frowns, trying to connect the puzzle pieces. 

She was beyond intelligent for her age, and sometimes Steve forgot how much she really understood. Bucky often sat her down and tried to explain to her his past, sparing her the terrible details of Hydra and glossing over the fact that he was made to do awful things, until she was old enough to really understand. 

But she understood that her Daddy was from a long time ago, originally, and then was taken by some bad people who made him sad. He was trapped in the apartment until Papa came along, and they fell in love. Just like the fairytale stories she adores have read to her, Papa and Daddy kissed, and then Daddy’s curse was broken. Now, Papa and Daddy sometimes go to fight the bad guys to keep everybody safe, and she sometimes stays with Grandma Peggy or Aunt Pepper while that happens. 

She accepted the story easily, the way young children trust so freely, with their open hearts and soft smiles. 

Steve would tell her more, when she was ready. He didn’t know when _ he _would be ready to see that innocent look on her face gone. 

He can understand now, to some degree, why Bucky was so against Steve joining the team, all those years ago. Bucky always said it was about his _ light, _and preserving it. Steve hadn’t really understood, then, not entirely, anyway.

But now, looking into Sarah’s deep blue eyes, he knew what Bucky had been talking about. Sarah had never faced evil before, just as Steve hadn’t, before he joined the team. 

He couldn’t imagine the horror he’d feel when he saw that trusting look go out of his daughter’s eyes. He, like Bucky, didn’t want to be the one responsible for that. 

But a day would come when it would be unavoidable. 

“That’s right,” Bucky praises her again. “Today is a special day, because we’re celebratin’ how long Papa and I have been in love.”

Sarah nods seriously at that, grabbing onto Bucky’s chin with one hand, and Steve’s with the other, her tiny, dimpled fingers warm against Steve’s skin. “When the curse broke?” She asks again, blinking up at them both. 

Bucky leans over her to press a chaste kiss to Steve’s lips, smiling softly at his husband. “When the curse was broken,” Bucky nods. “When Papa saved me.” 

Steve feels a sudden swell of emotion, staring at his gorgeous little girl and his equally gorgeous husband. Bucky’s huge bulk, wrapped protectively around Sarah’s small shape. Steve never imagined how enraptured he’d be by watching Bucky fall in love with being a dad. It made Steve love him impossibly more. 

“Daddy saved me, too,” Steve murmurs, his voice cracking a little. The soft morning light was casting the room in a golden glow, making the scene impossibly more serene. 

Bucky looks up, startled, at Steve’s change in tone. “What is it, sweetheart? What’s wrong?” 

Steve gives him a wobbly smile, shaking his head softly. “Grateful,” Steve says softly. “For this.”

Bucky gives him a knowing smile. “Me too, Ace. Every day.”

Sarah sits up, pressing another sloppy kiss to Steve’s cheek and wiping his tears away with her palm. “Papa is очень грустно,” Sarah tells Bucky quietly, her Russian coming easily to her. 

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees gently, rubbing her back. “Ему нужна любовь, I think, арахис.” 

Steve had no idea what they were saying. Sarah and Bucky often conversed in Russian whenever they could, and _ especially _when they were talking about Steve. 

Over the years, Steve had come to understand some of the common phrases that Bucky used a lot, like Russian curse words, or terms of endearment. But there was a lot he _ didn’t _know, and Sarah had picked up the language with a lot more ease than he’d ever been able to. 

“Papa?” Sarah whispers, wiping away another one of Steve’s tears with her small palm. “I’m on your team.” 

That sweet voice only makes Steve’s tears flow more freely. _ I’m on your team _ is something Steve said to her whenever she cried. He scoops her up, curls her into him, and whispers in her hair, _ it’s okay, peanut, I understand. I’m on your team. _

“I know you are, sweet girl,” Steve agrees thickly, pressing their foreheads together. “Thank you.”

“So am I,” Bucky whispers, his large hand overlapping Sarah’s to cup Steve’s face. “моя любовь,”

Steve closes his eyes, leaning his face into the hands of the two souls he loved most in this world, relishing the waves of love he could feel emanating from them both. "Я тебя люблю," Steve whispered, his heart racing, hoping he had gotten the pronunciation right. 

Bucky blinks at him, shocked. "...Я тебя люблю," he replies, his eyes wide. "You've been practicing." 

"Maybe," Steve gives a wobbly smile. "Did I do okay?" 

"Very good, Papa!" Sarah agrees enthusiastically. "Smart Papa!"

“We’re one pretty strong team, huh?” Steve murmurs, pulling away once he had composed himself. Bucky hadn't stopped staring at him, wide-eyed. There was something like awe in Bucky's face that was making Steve blush.

“Yeah!” Sarah jumps up excitedly. “Strong team needs pancakes!” 

Bucky snorts a laugh at that, composing himself again. He gets up out of bed in a fluid movement, and Steve takes the moment to inhale a steadying breath, composing himself as well. “Sundays _ are _for pancakes,” Steve agrees. “Can’t argue with that logic, peanut.” 

Bucky stretches, the muscles in his back rippling as he does. Steve takes the time to appreciate his ass in those tight black boxer briefs before he tugs on a pair of sweats, and swings Sarah up onto his shoulders. “Did the princess ask for pancakes?” Bucky says in a terrible British accent. 

“Yes she did!” Sarah squeals, kicking her chubby legs against Bucky’s chest, earning a rumble of laughter from him. 

“I. Am. A. Robot. Beeboop.” Bucky says in a robotic voice, doing some weird, jerky leg-movement that Steve _ thinks _was supposed to impersonate a robot. “Please. Direct. Me. To. The. Kitchen. So. That. We. May. Commence. Pancake. Making.” 

Sarah grabs a fistful of Bucky’s hair in either hand, and uses it as if it were a joystick, directing them through the bedroom door with some difficulty. 

Bucky _ pretends _ to malfunction twice, and walks into the wall, making Sarah erupt into a fit of giggles. To be _ restarted, _she had to boop his nose twice. 

“System. Reboot. Successful!” Bucky applauds, and marches them into the kitchen, ducking so that Sarah’s head cleared the threshold and leaving Steve to watch them go, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. 

He lays back in bed for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. 

How different his life was, five years ago! 

A new apartment, with a story and empty rooms, falling into his lap. Bucky’s cool presence, his honey-sweet voice, that stubborn curl, falling into his eyes. The moon, the croon of Billie Holiday. The safety he felt, being held in Bucky’s arms for the first time. Those frantic kisses, when they didn’t know if they’d ever have more than those few, fleeting moments.

The heartbreak, the fear...seeing Bucky’s pale eyes not recognize him, fighting for their love and turning his back on Bucky, only for Bucky to fight back. Falling into each other, for the first time. 

Their wedding day, the daisies, the crowd cheering as Bucky dipped him low and kissed him for all it was worth. 

The honeymoon, the sunburnt skin, the touristy-photos Bucky talked him into taking...lying together under the stars in Paris, knowing there wasn’t a single place in the world Steve belonged more. 

Fighting Hydra, as a team. Standing beside Bucky as his husband, his equal, to take down the very people that had broken Bucky’s heart. 

Finding Sarah, holding her small hands, watching her say her first words, take her first steps. Another piece of his heart given away. Half to Bucky, half to her--they owned him. 

He had, in the past five years, lived quite a life. He had succumbed to the great crescendo of love that he had somehow chanced upon. 

Steve was married to a man he needed more than breath itself, who loved him with the same ferocious passion Steve felt. A man who was as incredible a husband as he was a father, to a little girl who owned Steve’s heart from the minute he laid eyes on her. They had love, and an apartment they adored, friends who were worth dying for, jobs that inspired them.

Never, in all Steve’s years before Bucky, did he think he would get _ this. _

He had said once, when his mother died, that he lost faith in anything that had to do with the bigger picture. God, to him, became a man who sat back and watched the world burn. Who gave single mothers cancer.

But now, looking at the life that Steve was given, the love that filled him to the brim...he couldn’t say with complete certainty that there _ wasn’t _something large, something beautiful, out there, granting happy endings. 

Perhaps it didn’t matter what god there was, or was not. Perhaps this love, this religious devotion to his family, that Steve felt...perhaps _ that _was his religion. To care about someone so much you’d dedicate your life to loving them. 

It was, Steve thought absently, twisting his wedding band around his finger, a beautiful notion, if only that.

“Coming, Papa?” Sarah calls from the kitchen, her soprano voice carrying through the apartment. 

Steve sits up, sliding on his bunny slippers, and Bucky’s shirt, pushing his glasses onto his face. He was unable to help the smile that formed as he shuffled into the kitchen, following the sound of Sarah’s voice. 

Sarah is sitting on the counter with Bucky, pancake batter already smeared on one of her cheeks, Bucky mixing the batter animatedly beside her, his back to Steve. Steve pauses in the threshold for a moment, watching them. 

“Papa is мой принц,” Bucky explains, “и я был зверем...until...” 

Sarah blinks up at Bucky, tilting her head in consideration. “Until Papa lifted the curse?” 

“That’s right, my умная девочка!” Bucky kisses her head, adding a generous amount of chocolate chips into the batter, and then holding out his hand and offering Sarah some. She accepts excitedly, popping them in her mouth. 

“And then what, Daddy?” 

“You like this story, hmm?” Steve interrupts, wrapping an arm around Bucky. Bucky presses a lingering kiss to the top of Steve’s head, tugging him in close. 

“It’s a good story, kitten,” Bucky grins, and then nods at Sarah. “You want to hear the end?”

“She’s heard it a thousand times--” Steve begins fondly, but Bucky pinches his side, making him squeal and laugh. “I’m _ ticklish, _you jerk!” he teases. 

“Punk,” Bucky says sweetly, winking at him. “She wants to hear it, don’t you, Sarah?”

Sarah now has pancake batter _ and _ chocolate on her sweet little face, all before 9am. She claps her dimpled hands together excitedly. “Yes! The end, Daddy! Tell me!” 

“Well,” Bucky says, in his story-time voice, his eyes wide and animated. “Once the curse was broken, Papa and Daddy could _ finally _ be together. After alllllllllllll that time, not being able to hug, they could finally hold hands, and dance together, at the royal ball.” 

Sarah sighed happily. “The royal ball,” She repeated dreamily. “The end!” 

“Not yet!” Bucky stops her, lightly tapping her nose. “Papa and Daddy had to overcome a _ big _quest!” Bucky explains excitedly. “Daddy had been through a lot with the bad guys, and Papa wanted to help. So Papa and Daddy decided to fight the bad guys, together, with Auntie Nat, and Uncle Clint, and Uncle Sam, and Uncle Tony!” 

“The Navengers!” Sarah cheers. “The Navengers!” 

“The Avengers,” Bucky agrees with a soft laugh at her pronunciation. They were getting there, some of the bigger words she struggled with. “And the Avengers helped to stop the bad guys, once and for all. But...while on the _ very last _ mission to shut down the bad guys for good, Papa found somethin’, very _ very _small, in a little bassinet…do you remember this part, умная девочка?”

Steve hides his smile in Bucky’s chest as Sarah frowns and then lights up. “The princess?” 

“My smart girl!” Bucky approves, ruffling her curls. “Yes, Papa found the princess. She was sooo small, just like a little арахис!” Bucky grins. “And she was the most beautiful princess in all the land, and so clever. She knew, in her heart, that she was destined to be with Papa and Daddy, and that they would do anything and everything they could to keep the princess safe, no matter what.” 

“No matter what,” Steve echoes quietly. Bucky’s arm squeezes him extra tight.

“She knew they loved her?” Sarah blinks her big eyes up at them. 

“Yep,” Bucky admits, pinching her fat little foot as he pops the _ p _in the word. “She knew, ‘cause when Papa picked her up for the first time, she stopped cryin’ right away.” 

“She knew Papa was on her team,” Sarah nods softly. “The princess _ knew _.”

“That’s right, she knew. And when Papa brought the princess to meet Daddy for the first time, the princess reached her little hand up,” Bucky grabs Sarah’s wrist to guide her hand to his face. “And touched his cheek, just like this,” Bucky was losing his story-voice, becoming softer and more serious, staring into his daughter’s eyes. “And Daddy and the clever princess instantly had a bond that no one could ever, ever, _ ever, _break. Like magic.” 

Sarah leaned in and rubber her tiny nose to Bucky's with a pleased smile. Bucky presses a soft kiss to her forehead. 

“And then,” Steve interrupts. “Papa, Daddy, and the princess rode the magic dragon all the way back to the castle, where they promised to watch the princess grow up to be the kindest queen in all the land.” 

Bucky pulls back, wrapping Steve up in his arms once again. Sarah stands on the counter, and Bucky instantly reaches an arm out to steady her. She toddles over to the edge, and then wraps her small arms around them two of them, trying to squeeze in the middle. 

Steve picks her up easily, and fits her between both of their chests, Bucky’s arms wrapped around Steve, keeping Sarah and Steve both in the comfort of his warmth. 

“The end?” Sarah asks, as Steve wipes the pancake batter from her round cheek. 

“The end,” Bucky confirms, peppering kisses on Steve’s forehead, and then on Sarah’s. 

“The end,” Steve echoes--though it was hardly the end. 

Sarah would grow up, day by day, and learn new things, become stronger and kinder and impossibly more loved. She would bring home a boy at 15, and Bucky would scare him off, and probably show off his metal arm and knife-handling skills, threatening to cut him up if he ever hurt Sarah. 

She would find whatever it was that she loved to do, and Steve and Bucky would make sure she does it, lots of it. She would fall in love, and have her heart broken….and they’d be there, to pick up the pieces. 

She would have nightmares, and goals, and trips she’ll want to take. 

She will never, _ ever _ second guess her worth, or how she deserves to be treated because Steve and Bucky would be the examples, all her life, of the kind of respect and love she was worthy of. 

Steve and Bucky would grow older. More grey would pepper their hair, Steve’s chronic pain would get worse, and eventually, they’d be old and wrinkly. 

But they’d do that together, too, knowing that they lived an extraordinary life, full of blazing sunsets, and full-bellied laughter...and more love than Steve ever thought a human heart could hold.

“And they all lived--” Bucky squeezes his arms around his two favourite people, extra tight. Steve smiles up at him, his eyes damp once again. When Bucky looks down at his husband, Steve sees that Bucky’s own eyes are red-rimmed. In five years together, they had already made so many amazing memories and had overcome so much. Steve felt a thrill of excitement about the future, as he considered how many more anniversaries they would be able to celebrate if luck allowed. Sarah rests her head on Steve’s chest, as Bucky rests his chin on Steve’s head, the three of them curled into each other with ease, like three puzzle pieces, always meant to find each other.

“--_ Happily. Ever. After. _” 

**THE END **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Оставь меня в покое = leave me alone 
> 
> Христос = Christ 
> 
> возлюбленная = sweetheart/beloved 
> 
> Умная девушка = clever/smart girl 
> 
> очень грустно = very sad 
> 
> арахис = peanut 
> 
> моя любовь = my love
> 
> мой принц = my prince 
> 
> и я был зверем = and I was a beast 
> 
> *****
> 
> THE END!!!!!!!!! THE. END.  
I'm a wreck. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your continuous love and support! I can't wait to write more for this amazing ship, but....for now, I'll take a few days to soak up the fact that this beast is DONE. All done! Finished! 
> 
> Hate to see her leave, but love to watch her go ;) 
> 
> Once again, love you all 3000. I hope you have enjoyed this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it!! ❤️

**Author's Note:**

> Comment & Kudos are much, much appreciated!! You can also find me on Tumblr @wincestplease


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